


Warmth

by carolyncaves



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Just Bear With Me, M/M, MT!Prompto, Prompto Whump, Touch-Starved, aggressive softness from all parties, background Gladnis - Freeform, cottage in the woods AU, especially at first, this is gonna get really cute i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolyncaves/pseuds/carolyncaves
Summary: After the attack on Insomnia, Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio are forced to live in hiding in a remote cottage in the woods. The Empire hunts for Noctis, determined to spill his blood like they did his dad’s, and some days he doesn’t know why everyone’s going to so much effort to keep it from them. Six months later, a lone MT stumbles into their clearing, clawing at its helmet …Fluffy BroT4 domesticity and ultra-sweet Promptis, mixed with the Prompto whump and terrible angst that are par for the course with MT!Prompto.





	1. Viva La Vida

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to [@inktail](http://inktail.tumblr.com/) and [@chocolatepecan](https://chocolatepecan.tumblr.com/) for betaing - this wouldn't be what it is without either of them.  
>   
> This chapter contains blood and pain and unpleasantness, so heads up.  
> (What’s, like, the opposite of a meet-cute?)

It was like Cor had reached into Gladio’s dreams and made them real. A little house so deep in the woods no one would ever find it. A wood stove, which Ignis regularly used to work his culinary magic. Plus a real stove, and electric lights, and plenty of hot water, because Insomnian technology was a goddamn miracle. Hiking into town once a month to get supplies. Living off the grid in cozy comfort.

He was having trouble enjoying it, though, since just about everybody he used to know was dead.

Iggy’s night terrors were back, and he’d had three panic attacks since they’d been out there. Helplessness didn’t suit him. Noct was crushed. He hadn’t taken it well, any of it. Not the fall of Insomnia, and not the fact that the King tricked them into leaving the city beforehand.

The late King. King Regis. Technically Noct was king now.

 _King of ashes_ , he’d said, the only time Gladio had brought it up. That had lit a fire in his veins that sent him out into the lush summer woods, walking for hours to keep himself from marching back into the stone cottage and saying something he’d have to pretend he didn’t regret.

That was back when Noct was still pretending to engage. He spoke less and less all the time. Gladio wanted to shake him and tell him to snap out of it. But Noct would just say ‘What’s the point,’ and he’d be right. They’d been stuck in cold storage, in case the Crownsguard ever recovered the Crystal or the Ring. Their job was to sit there and exist as inconspicuously as possible and not die.

It might’ve been driving Gladio a little crazy.

So that morning, when Noct called “Gladio!” from the front window (one of his favorite places to mope), Gladio was by his side in a heartbeat.

Noct was already leaping up from the window seat. The cat dropped to the floor and scurried away. “Look,” Noct said. “There’s something out there.”

A figure moved in the shadowy forest on the other side of their clearing. A person, maybe, which was bad. They were supposed to be far enough out that hikers wouldn’t stumble across them by accident.

Then the figure stumbled into the sunlight, and Gladio felt the hairs on his neck rise. It wasn’t a person. It was an MT.

Gladio glanced up to find empty sky above the trees. He couldn’t hear the hum of Magitek engines. It wasn’t a whole squadron, the full force of the Empire crashing down on them. Just a single MT. Still a threat to Noct, yeah, but one within reach. An enemy he could actually kill. “Ignis?” Gladio called.

Noct was pressing his face to the glass. “What’s wrong with it?”

The MT stumbled toward the house. It lurched and jerked, like it was barely on its feet.

“Not gonna matter in a second,” Gladio said, summoning his sword from the armiger.

“No weapons in the house, Gladio,” Ignis complained, ducking around it to peer out the window. “It’s alone?”

“Looks like.”

“They generally strike in larger groups,” Ignis said.

“Maybe it’s a scout. Makes it all the more important to take care of it fast.” He wanted Iggy’s buy-in before he charged outside and revealed them to the enemy, but Ignis just kept squinting out the window.

“No weapon,” Noct said. He was right. Gladio had to admit that was weird.

The MT fell to its knees beside the woodpile and fumbled at the axe embedded in the chopping block.

“Guess it’s here to reload,” Gladio said. He made for the door. He wasn’t going to wait all day. “Stay inside, Noct.”

Noct didn’t, of course, but he did stay back with Ignis. Gladio strode across the sunny clearing toward the MT.

The MT got its gauntlets around the axe and – with some difficulty – yanked it free of the stump. It spun the tool in its grip and drove the blade into its own helmet.

Gladio stopped in his tracks. What the hell was it doing?

It wrestled with the axe, widening the fissure. Sparks arced from exposed electronics to the metal wedge. Gladio could see the domed surface of its helmet and the collar of its chest plate were covered in scrapes and gouges and marks.

Clearly the thing was malfunctioning. Well, Gladio would be happy to put it out of its misery. He stepped forward, readied a mighty swing.

The MT toppled over onto its side. It gave the axe a violent twist, and with a metallic crack the helmet split completely in two.

Underneath was a person.

Or at least, something person-ish. Some kind of sick blackness in its veins shone through its pale skin. Its lips were cracked and bleeding. Gladio only caught a glimpse of its eyes before they slid shut in exhaustion and relief, but he was pretty damn sure they were red. The axe fell out of the MT’s now-limp fingers. It didn’t move at all.

Actually, Gladio could see its breath in its neck, the hammering of its pulse. The armor hid any movement of its chest.

“What the hell?” Noct said behind him. Gladio was wondering the same damn thing. Weren’t they supposed to be machines?

The MT’s eyes flicked open – and yeah, they were very red – and it looked at them in shock. Like it … like _he_ was noticing them for the first time.

Hell, he’d been so focused on the axe, maybe he really was.

He opened his mouth with a tacky sound and tried to speak. No sound came out. His lips moved again, and this time he managed a whisper. Gladio couldn’t make it out, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to lean down closer to listen. Then … “Please.” The MT scraped at the neck of his armor. “Get it off me.”

Gladio’s sword was heavy in his hand. He didn’t kill people, not defenseless ones, and suddenly this felt a lot like that. But he had to keep Noct safe, keep the location safe. The thing on the ground was an MT. An enemy combatant. Maybe not even a person at all. He braced himself to do what he’d come out here to do.

“Wait, Gladio.” Ignis was at his shoulder.

Gladio waited, flooded with something like relief.

Ignis stood over the MT. “How have you come to be here?” he demanded. ~~~~

The MT ignored them. He was trying to crane his neck so he could look around on the ground beside him. He seemed way less worried about Gladio’s sword than he should’ve been.

“Hey!” Gladio barked. “Answer him. What’s your deal?”

The MT’s eyes wandered up to his. They were creepy. “I failed my third compliance test in a row.” His voice was raspy and thin. “I was marked for termination so they assigned me to a forward assault unit. When they dropped us off, I hid. When I was sure they wouldn’t be coming back to look for survivors, I ran into the woods.”

Half the stuff he was saying didn’t make any sense. Compliance tests? Termination? “So you’re a deserter,” Gladio summarized.

The MT’s attention was already gone. He started feeling around beside him for the axe.

“Don’t move,” Gladio warned.

“I have to get it off,” the MT begged.

“How long ago was that?” Ignis asked. ~~~~

“Ninety-six hours,” the MT said. “I didn’t think about how I wouldn’t be able to get out of the armor. Not until later. Please …” His voice cut off into a choked rasp. He raked his hand through the grass again.

“Uh-uh.” Gladio stepped over to him, sword raised in case he tried anything, and kicked the axe away.

The MT let out something like a sob.

“Try to calm down,” Ignis said.

“You don’t understand. I have to get it off me.”

“You keep saying that,” Gladio said. “Is that why you did that with the axe, with your helmet?”

The MT nodded. “They have a machine that can unbolt it. Without it …”

“They lock you in every morning and unlock you every night? What, to keep people from running away, like you?”

The MT stared. “I was last out for maintenance and upgrades four months ago.”

Four months? Was he serious? Gladio looked at him hard. Translucent skin that had never seen the sun. That black stuff threaded through him. Four months. Could a human survive that?

“Please,” the MT whispered again. “I have to get it off.”

Gladio scanned the tree line for the lie, the proverbial cavalry, the tightening trap, the rest of the MT strike squadron sent to kill them. There was nothing out there. The only sound was the rustling of the leaves and the MT’s ragged breathing. “Look … you’re a Niff, aren’t you? Why’d you run away?”

The MT stared blankly up at the sky. His brow wrinkled in thought. When he finally answered, it was in a small voice. “I didn’t want to die.”

That answer bolted Gladio to the ground. Because even though this MT, this guy, this _thing_ was half-nuts and looked like a horror movie monster … that was the most human impulse Gladio knew.

Noct was staring at the MT with his hands balled into fists. He rounded on Gladio, fierce with determination.

That’s when Gladio knew there was no stopping whatever was about to happen. Even though he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to do his job and try.

\---------

There were three people standing over him. A big one, a sharp one, and a soft one. They seemed to be trying to have a conversation with each other without talking. The big one had a weapon, but he hadn’t struck yet and MT couldn’t stop him if he did, so he ignored it. MT twisted his head to look for the axe.

It was so far away now. He’d have to try to drag himself. If they’d let him. He’d avoided lying down as he got weaker, because he knew it would be impossible to get back up. The armor was so heavy. As he’d run, and walked, and stumbled, he’d realized it was terrible. Smothering him, crushing him. Trapping him to die.

He didn’t know when he’d decided he wanted to be out, just one more time, before that happened. Somewhere in the endless woods.

If this was as far as he got … the thought curled hollow in his chest. But it was better than nothing. The air felt so good on his face. Yesterday when the temperature regulator went offline it had started to get pretty hot inside the armor. He’d sweat bullets for a while. Then he’d stopped sweating at all.

The soft one gestured furiously, and the big one relented. His weapon disappeared in a sparkle of light. “Okay, okay! Tell me what to do.”

His face was dark and angry against the bright blue sky, and MT had to strain to look up at him. “Huh?”

“How do I get you out of this thing?”

He was going to do it himself? MT didn’t waste energy trying to understand. He wrapped his hands around the collar, tugging weakly. “Pull?”

The big one sighed. “Bring me the axe,” he said.

The soft one went and got it for him while he leaned down and squinted at MT’s armor. He didn’t look like anyone MT had ever seen. His voice was low and rough, he had scruffy hair on his face, and for a second MT thought he could feel the warmth of his breath. “What order do they put the pieces on in?”

“Hands and feet,” MT said. He licked his lips, trying to wet them. That stopped working hours ago, but it was a reflex. “Arms and legs. Back. Front.”

“All right.” He took the axe. MT braced for him to swing it at him, but he leaned down and worked the blade into the seam between the front and back plates. He wrenched the handle, and there was a loud CRACK. “Peachy.”

MT felt the armor tug at him, but he didn’t do anything more than breathe too sharply in response.

The big one repeated the action on the other side. CRACK again. Tug again. MT was ready for it that time. Then the big one dropped the axe and wrapped the fingers of one hand around the front of MT’s collar and used the other to hold the back plate against the ground. He pulled.

The bolts holding the armor to MT’s chest tore out of him, and it hurt so much he cried out a little. He couldn’t help it. But it was over fast, leaving nothing but a sharp stinging and a few trickles of wetness and the wonderful touch of the outside world against his skin. MT rattled out all the air in his lungs in relief.

The big one knelt frozen over him, holding the chest plate and its dangling wires in a white-knuckled grip. “Six, fucking Six, _fuck_ …”

“There’s metal things in his skin,” the soft one said, dazed. “Ignis, Gladio …”

“We see,” the sharp one said.

“It was stuck to him, he’s bleeding, he …” There was a sparkle of blue light, and he was holding a weird bottle thing in his hand.

“No.” The sharp one grabbed his hand. “I think we should avoid using curatives on him if at all possible. He appears to be … contaminated with some substance derived from the Scourge. Clearly it’s been weaponized, refined, or he’d be slavering at our throats … but exposing him to healing magic could do more harm than good.”

“Well then what do we do?”

“Just keep going, please keep going,” MT said. “Please help me.”

Strangely, miraculously, they listened.

\---------

Since the fall of Insomnia, Ignis often felt as though he had somehow slipped out of reality. In that moment, knelt as he was beside a human MT, the sensation was particularly strong.

Gladio pried yet another piece of metal off the MT, and though it must have been excruciating he let out nothing more than a weak whine. His breath was alarmingly shallow, his lips slightly parted, staring up at nothing.

Lips that were chapped, no matter how often he tried to wet them. “Are you thirsty?” Ignis asked, leaning over him to catch his answer. “Do you need water?”

“My hydration packs ran out fifty-two hours ago.”

Astrals, it was a miracle he was alive. Ignis looked up at Noctis.

“On it.” He scrambled up and darted toward the cottage.

By that point Gladio had gotten the MT free from the waist up – except for a black box on his left forearm that was welded tight to his skin – and had moved down to work on his legs. The MT simply lay there. He was completely spent. He’d exhausted himself just getting his helmet off – a labor of four days.

Fortunately, since they were here, that had been enough.

Noctis was back quickly, skidding to his knees in the grass. He held a canteen. “Here.”

Ignis took it from him. Noct’s entire body was vibrating with tension and he only had eyes for the MT, as he had since the moment they’d realized the extent of his trouble. His compassion showed him a person in need, not an enemy – one he felt driven to help.

Noctis would make such an excellent king.

The thought tore through Ignis’ chest like wildfire. He buried it. There was no time for that now. He lowered the canteen so the MT could drink.

The MT struggled to raise himself, and Ignis put a hand under his head to assist him before he had a chance to remember that touching the MT could be dangerous. He was infected with an unknown substance.

He drank like he was dying, and Ignis didn’t pull away until he was through.

A creak of metal, and his whole body tensed. An “ahhh ahh aaaaaah” dragged itself from his throat. When it was over, his head dropped back into the grass. He looked dazed, eyes glassy. He made a small sound with each exhale. One of distress.

“Stay with me now.” Ignis touched a hand to his cheek. The damage had already been done, after all.

His red eyes snapped to Ignis’ own. “Please,” he rasped again.

“Yes, don’t worry, we’re getting you out.”

“Please,” he insisted. “If I die … before you recycle me, or whatever you’re going to do. Please take it off me first.”

“Ignis,” Noct whispered. “ _What the hell._ ”

Ignis didn’t know, but the possible explanations that were condensing in his mind were uniformly horrific. “We shall,” Ignis said. “I promise you. It will come off, one way or another.” He didn’t try to assure the MT he would live. Ignis had no way of knowing that.

Noct was gripping his other arm tightly, and Ignis wanted to reassure him as well. To tell him everything would be all right. But Ignis hadn’t been able to say that with any shred of truth in six months. The MT’s presence here was worrying. The Empire wanted Noctis dead, and if they were discovered Ignis could do little to prevent it. Their brief was to hide as well as they were able, to remain at Noct’s side while they waited to be found and murdered.

That thought invaded his dreams regularly. Noctis overwhelmed by MTs, crying out as he was dragged down and slaughtered, Noctis bleeding and choking in his arms, Noctis dead on the floor of their cottage while Ignis himself lay dying, unable to even reach him.

Gladio must have started on the next piece, because the MT keened softly and his eyes rolled back.

Ignis ruthlessly shoved those images and their whisper of panic to the back of his mind. Nightmares that disturbed his sleep were one thing. He could not afford to lose his composure now. He twisted to check Gladio’s progress. Only one boot still remained, along with the troublesome arm. “We’re close,” he told the boy.

Boy? He was a soldier, an enemy combatant, a deserter.

And a boy, really. A young man. He couldn’t have been older than Noct.

The boot came off with little more than a choked whimper from the MT, and then they were all crowding around the malicious-looking device on his forearm. The raised rectangular box was embedded in his skin, surrounded by surgical scars. It had a display – currently black – and several ports where perhaps liquids or materials could be introduced. It was the last piece of Imperial technology attached to the MT.

“Maybe we should leave it for now,” Noct said, eyeing the MT’s strained face.

“No.” He reached across himself with shaking fingers to scrape at the device. “Please.”

“Look, kid,” Gladio said. “You’re in pretty bad shape. I don’t know what this is gonna do to you. You want to survive this, don’t you?”

The MT issued a mumbled litany of “Please get it off please get it off please get it off.”

Gladio sighed. “All right, okay. Try to take it easy.” He traced the edge of the device with his fingers, prodding and testing. “It’s really in there, I don’t even know how to go at this. Maybe …”

The display lit up red, and a mechanical voice pierced the tension. _TAMPERING DETECTED - TERMINATION SEQUENCE ACTIVATED_

Through a haze of alarm, Ignis saw the MT’s face slide from shock to devastated betrayal.

_LETHAL INJECTION IN FIFTEEN SECONDS_

Ignis wracked his mind for a solution, smothering an intrusive vision of the MT, lifeless, pink foam on his lips.

“Cut it off!” the MT was shouting, referring to his very own arm.

Gladio looked to Ignis. His sword appeared in his hand in a flash of blue.

“No, wait a second,” Noct was saying.

_TEN SECONDS_

“Ignis?” Gladio asked.

“He’ll bleed to death,” Ignis said. Without the use of potions, they’d have no way to stop it.

“He’ll definitely die if …”

“Just rip it off him!” Noct shouted.

_FIVE SECONDS_

“Cut it off, cut if off!”

Gladio banished the sword and pried the control unit away from the MT’s arm in one fluid red motion. This was accompanied by the most wretched scream Ignis had heard in his entire life. Then it was free. Gladio tossed it away from them, and it bounced to a rest in the grass.

 _LETHAL INJECTION INITIATED._ There was a click, and clear liquid bubbled out of the device and soaked into the earth.

Gladio was already pressing a towel to the MT’s forearm when Ignis turned back around. The amount of blood seeping through it was concerning, but not overly so. If it wouldn’t stop … well, they would determine how to handle that if it became an issue.

The MT’s entire body twitched, as though he were trying to curl himself around the injured arm. His mouth worked, but he made no sound.

Noct reached for him, but Ignis batted his hand away. The black substance was still an unknown, and Ignis would not risk Noct’s health.

He instead combed his own fingers through the MT’s sweat-stiff hair. “Hush now, it’s over. It’s off.”

The MT let out a shuddering sigh. He turned searchingly into Ignis’ hand, and Ignis allowed it. He continued to stroke the MT’s forehead as he calmed.

Ignis met Gladio’s eyes over the prone MT. His brow was furrowed, and Ignis wondered if Gladio’s concerns mirrored his own. The MT was a human being in serious physical distress, true, but he was also an enemy. Black scourge stained his veins, and his armor – machinery of war – lay heaped in the grass beside them.

They were supposed to be hidden away from the militant Empire, but that disastrous conflict had stumbled right to their door.

\---------

MT lay on his back. His body felt light and shaky. His arm hurt a lot where the control unit had been, but he was mostly just glad it was gone. The sky was beautiful blue, edged with the leaves of the trees surrounding the clearing.

Something draped over his lower half. The sharp one had covered him with a cloth. “Try to stay with us, now. You need additional attention, and we’ve some things to discuss.”

MT didn’t know if he’d be much good at discussing. The armor was off. He hadn’t really thought past that. His mind felt empty, like a blank slate. But he obeyed.

(His last order was to battle until he fell, and he hadn’t obeyed that. But that was an exception. He tried to be good, even if the failed compliance tests stacked up anyway.)

“Let’s put him on the sofa,” the sharp one was saying to the big one. “The sheet will serve as a buffer. Not ideal, but once he’s cleaned up ...”

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves, Ignis. Are we … are we really doing this?”

“I don’t know what you mean. Are we not already doing this?”

“Sure, we got him out of the armor, but … taking him in is something else.”

“The alternative is to leave him leave him lying here on the ground, injured and defenseless.”

“Is that such a wild idea?”

If they were going to leave him, he’d have to figure out how to hide himself from the daemons before it got dark. They might not ignore him anymore, now that the armor was off. He’d seen the floodlights attached to the little house. He wondered if they’d let him stay in the clearing, or if they’d chase him off. He wondered if he could stand.

“Gladio, would you please just carry him inside? We’ll discuss how to proceed later.”

“I feel bad for him too, okay? But this is a big damn risk. What if he’s actually here to kill us?”

“If so, this is a strange way to go about it. If he meant us harm, he’s had plenty of opportunities to attempt it.”

“So we should keep giving him more? There was only supposed to be one other person in all of Eos who knew where we were. Cor. Now that number’s doubled. What if he exposes us?”

They didn’t like that he knew they were here. So they probably weren’t just going to leave him. They’d either take him in or kill him. Somehow, that was a relief. It meant he wouldn’t have to try to drag himself off the ground.

“What precisely are you suggesting? We can’t just ...”

“Can’t we? Ignis, he’s a freaking MT. I’ll choke the life out of him with my own two hands if that’s what’s necessary to keep Noct safe.”

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad way to die. Better than being trapped inside the armor. Maybe, if they did decide to kill him, they’d let him pick that. Bare hands on his skin. These people were kind, and the big one – Gladio – was strong. He wouldn’t make it hurt, not more than it had to. His face would be the last thing MT would see.

“Dramatic much? We barely saved him from the armor, you can’t go threatening to kill him.” The soft one leaned over him. “What’s your name?”

MT would look at the soft one instead, if he could. Noct. His face would be a good last sight. “My designation is MT-05953234.”

Noct frowned. “No, like your real name.”

“I’m just … MT.”

“Okay, but what were you called before you were an MT?”

“There was no before.”

That answer was met with a long, gaping silence. All three of them were staring at him.

“What does that mean?” the sharp one, Ignis, asked.

MT didn’t know how to say it differently.

“When did you first get in that armor?” Noct said.

“We get full armor at 18 years operation. Two years ago for me. Training armor starts at 13 years operation.”

“And before that?” Gladio growled.

“Conditioning.”

More silence.

“You’re telling me,” Gladio said, “you’ve been an MT your whole life.”

“Since you were a small child?” Ignis added.

MT looked back up at the sky. The conversation was going in circles, and he was very tired. “How could I have ever been anything else?”

They looked like they were having a hard time understanding, even though it seemed pretty simple to him. But then these people were Lucians – at least, he thought they were – and the Lucians didn’t have MTs.

Gladio cleared his throat. “Okay. Let’s get you inside and we’ll figure out what the fuck we’re gonna do with you from there.”

\-------

Noctis dug a box out from under the kitchen sink, one of the caches of survival supplies Gladio had been organizing and reorganizing since they got there. Behind him, he could hear Gladio dumping the MT on the couch in the living half of the cottage’s main room.

“Look, just … lie still,” Gladio said.

Ignis sighed. “Would you like more water?”

Based on the shuffling and gulping, the answer was yes.

Noctis pulled the top off the emergency cache and grabbed an energy gel out. “Here.” He was across the main room in three strides.

Gladio intercepted the foil pouch and tore the corner off before passing it to the MT. “Try to suck on some of this. It’ll put a little juice back in your tank.”

The MT took it obediently and put it to his mouth. His vacant eyes looked bruised with exhaustion and he blinked slowly, like could barely keep them open. He clutched the sheet he’d been wrapped in with his bad arm.

“Do you know anything about the black substance under your skin?” Ignis asked.

He shook his head slowly. “They put more in the control box every four weeks. It’s to help us wear the armor. It’s … it …” He visibly ran out of steam.

“Never mind for now. Just get down what you can.”

“Okay.” The MT dropped off almost immediately, the half-empty gel slipping from his slack lips.

With a shared glance, the three of them retreated to the far corner of the kitchen. They could keep an eye on the MT across the room and hopefully talk without waking him.

“He has a number instead of a name.” Ignis had a look on his face. The same look he’d had the morning after Insomnia fell. Noctis had seen it on him a couple of times since. It was the look that meant he didn’t know what to do.

It made him seem younger. Like someone Noctis’ age instead of Noctis’ fearless strategist. Noctis didn’t like it.

“We need to call Cor,” Gladio said.

“Right, yes. Of course.” Ignis drew his phone out of his back pocket and tapped the screen. They waited while it reconnected to the network. They had to keep all their phones on airplane mode to make themselves as invisible as possible. Two more swipes and they were dialing Cor.

He picked up on the second ring. “Code?”

After a half-second hesitation Ignis answered, “Orange.”

They had a color system for when they called Cor outside of scheduled check-ins, so he’d know right away what level of response was needed. They weren’t supposed to call for anything you’d consider green. Yellow was for questions they really needed a second opinion on or updates too important to wait for the next call. Red was for actual emergencies, like if someone got sick and they needed urgent medical advice.

Black was for him. For Noctis. He’d felt a shiver go down his spine when he’d seen it on Ignis’ briefing sheet. _The King’s life is in jeopardy - Require immediate aid/extraction._ He hated it for a couple of reasons. He hated those words – The King. They were like a slap in the face. But beyond that, Noctis knew how to read between the lines. If Ignis’ or Gladio’s lives were in jeopardy, no one would come. Keeping the location secure for him was more important. Important enough for them to die for it, the way Cor and the Crownsguard were keeping score.

They must have picked that up from his dad.

“Orange?” Cor said, low voice warped over speaker-phone. “What’s happening? Is anyone hurt?”

“Everyone’s all right,” Ignis said. “We … an MT approached the cottage.”

“An MT?” Cor’s voice sharpened with alarm. “Singular?”

“Correct. We’ve seen no signs of any other Imperial activity.”

“No Magitek engines humming,” Gladio added.

“If they knew where you were, they’d be down around your ears,” Cor said.

“We’re aware,” Ignis said, knuckles whitening on the phone.

There was noise in the background, like Cor was shuffling through some papers. “No strange infantry movements flagged by recent patrols in the region, but we’ll keep an eye out. You should check it for trackers or active tech before you bury it.”

Ignis closed his eyes. “Lord Marshall …”

“It’s dead, isn’t it? Tell me it didn’t escape.”

“It didn’t escape,” Gladio said.

“Then what am I missing?”

Ignis and Gladio shared an uneasy look. Noctis sighed. “It’s alive. It’s here. It’s actually …”

“Kill it,” Cor commanded.

“No,” Noctis said.

“Boys, if there is an active MT at your location, you need to kill it.”

“He’s not an it.”

There was a long pause. “I thought they were machines.”

Ignis rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Apparently not, or not all of them at any rate. This one was a suit of mechanical armor with a person inside.”

“A person?”

“A skinny-ass kid. He said he’s twenty. I don’t even know if I believe him.”

“He appears to have deserted from the Magitek infantry,” Ignis said. “Though … perhaps ‘escaped’ would be a better word.”

There was a _very_ long pause. Noctis slumped against the cabinet, staring at the unconscious MT on the sofa. He looked so much smaller without the armor. It made his chest hurt.

“You there, Cor?” Gladio prompted. He was drumming his fingers on the counter. Weird, for him.

He didn’t know what to do either, Noctis realized. He was hanging on Cor’s advice.

Cor had the worst response. “Gladio, if I told you to kill him, would you carry out my order?”

“I’d order him not to,” Noctis said instantly.

“Noctis, I can’t …”

“You didn’t hear him, Cor, the way he was begging for help. You didn’t see him. He was stuck inside that armor with pins and wires. He looks like a mad science experiment. It sounds like it wasn’t voluntary. So. We’re not killing him! Royal decree.”

A whooshing sound. Maybe a sigh. “Then there’s your answer. But if he presents a threat to your life or the security of your location you’ll have no choice. He knows your position and you cannot allow him to leave there alive. Do you hear me, Gladio?”

“Yes, sir.” Gladio met Noctis’ eyes over the phone. He knew Gladio wouldn’t hesitate. Even a royal decree from Noctis wouldn’t stop him from doing his duty as the Shield.

It had been made pretty clear that what Noctis wanted was irrelevant.

“Don’t let him out of your sight,” Cor was saying. “And keep me updated. I want to hear from you every twenty four hours so I know he hasn’t murdered you in your sleep.”

“Yes, Marshall,” Ignis said. “While I have you, the MT is in poor shape physically and he has … some strange symptoms. Might I trouble someone on your team for a medical consultation?”

Another sigh. “Of course. Might take me a few minutes to round up the right personnel. Leave your phone on. I’ll call you back.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Cor disconnected.

A medical consultation. Strange symptoms. “Is he going to make it?” Noctis asked quietly.

Gladio shrugged. “Do I look like a doctor to you? Who knows. He’s exhausted and dehydrated and his arm’s pretty fucked up. That black stuff looks like bad news. If he was right and it came out of that murder box … who knows what’s going to happen now that he’s cut off.”

“We have basic medical supplies and Gladio’s and my knowledge of first aid, along with whatever the Marshall’s doctors can tell us,” Ignis said. “If he experiences any sort of serious complication … there will be nothing we can do.”

Noctis didn’t know why he cared. That thing on the couch was an MT. He’d probably killed Lucians. He’d only run away to save his own life.

He did know why, actually. It was because he’d said he‘d never been anything else. He was raised to live and fight and die in that armor. He never asked for it. He was never given a choice.

Noctis knew what that felt like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soulmark AU within an AU (AUception): Most MTs have no soulmarks, obviously, but when they pop 05953234 out of his beaker he has “What the hell?” on his arm. They almost terminate him immediately. They decide against it, figuring it probably means he’s destined to catch his soulmate by surprise in battle.
> 
> Noctis has “Please, get it off me.” Everyone’s always kind of tiptoed around the implications. When he’s feeling optimistic, he figures it means like a bug or a glitter bomb or something innocuous. When he’s feeling honest, he admits that specific phrasing is pretty weird under just about any circumstance.  
> 


	2. Blank Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I am not dead.
> 
> Many thanks to [@inktail](http://inktail.tumblr.com/) and [@chocolatepecan](https://chocolatepecan.tumblr.com/), who I mercilessly subjected to whatever the heck the first version of this was and who kindly helped steer me toward this.
> 
> The astute will note that despite this update we are no closer to the end of the fic than we were before, at least from a number-of-chapters standpoint. That's because progress is an illusion, ahem, I mean, because I dramatically underestimated what it would take to get to my next Planned Plot Point. I don’t expect it will happen again. (But I mean if I expected it, the number would already be higher. So.)
> 
> Chapter warnings: brief blood and injury mentions, v e r y brief medical food/eating issues (like, just in the narrative’s peripheral vision)

Ignis described the blackness in the MT’s veins to the Marshall’s medical staff, and their advice was to wait and see if the MT developed symptoms. Ignis heard an unspoken implication that if he did, their professional recommendation would be to pray to the Astrals he survived them. With Noct’s safety in the balance, there would be no chance of outside medical intervention.

After six months of praying the Empire wouldn’t find their cottage and murder them in their beds, Ignis was deeply tired of desperate hope being his only recourse.

The medics agreed with Ignis that the substance’s resemblance to the Scourge made using potions empowered by the crystal’s magic on the MT unsafe. An adverse interaction could harm him (or anyone in his vicinity) seriously.

"Even if it wouldn’t," Cor cut in, "using crystal magic in front of him would give away the King's identity."

"We've accessed the armiger in his presence," Ignis admitted, "and we've referred to Noct by name. It's possible that cat is already out of the bag."

Ignis could practically hear Cor’s frown, but the Marshall didn’t comment further.

On the subjects of the MT’s dehydration and fatigue and mangled arm they were much more confident. Ignis came away from the call with a page of notes and an arrangement to speak with them again that evening.

Ignis then started a pot of stock, laid out the medical supplies he expected they would need to bandage the MT’s wounds, dug through Noct’s clean clothes to find something suitable for the MT to wear in the short term, and changed the sheets on the bed in the third bedroom. At that point Gladio manhandled him into one of the kitchen chairs and leaned on Ignis’ shoulders, weighing him down so he couldn’t move. Ignis grumbled a little before surrendering. He reached up and lay a hand over one of Gladio’s, rubbing it absently, though he doubted his touch could erase the memory of that terrible armor from Gladio’s fingers.

Noct sat beside them, attentive, his blue eyes watchful. It was a marked change from that morning, and the many mornings prior. He looked like he did when he was thinking.

It was midafternoon when the MT took a slow, deep breath. Then he was pushing himself up on shaking arms. “MT-05953234, awake and awaiting orders.”

The three of them were beside the sofa in moments. The MT was trying to get to his feet, but the sheet was tangled around him, hampering his movements.

“Wait,” Ignis said. “Be still.”

The MT stilled. His eyes snapped to Ignis. He waited.

“Please be calm,” Ignis said. “There’s no need to get up. You’re weak and injured.”

He watched the MT survey the interior of the cottage. The cozy armchair beside the fireplace, the books on the built-in shelves, the covered pot on the stove, Gladiolus, Noctis, Ignis. By the time he completed his sweep, a small crease had come to reside between his brows.

“It’s all right,” Ignis tried again. “You’re safe for now.” Empty words, and perhaps the MT felt that as much as Ignis did. His shoulders were rigid and he watched Ignis uncertainly. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“What is it?” Noctis prompted. “What do you want to say?”

The MT pulled the sheet a little tighter around himself, as if the thin blood-streaked fabric were any sort of armor. “What is this?” A feeble gesture of his hand seemed to encompass everything before him.

Ignis wasn’t quite sure what he meant. But perhaps the MT didn’t know himself, because he shook his head jerkily. “I mean … I mean …”

“It’s okay,” Noct said, moving forward until Gladio clamped a hand around his bicep. “It’s okay, really. I’m Noctis—”

Ignis could not restrain a sigh. So much for any attempt at subtlety.

“—and these are my friends, Gladio and Ignis. This is our house, our … home, and we’re going to take care of you.”

“Noct,” Gladio warned, “he’s not another lost kitten for you to _take care of_ , he’s …”

“… a human being, yeah, I know.” Noct tried to jerk his arm out of Gladio’s grip, but Gladio held firm. Noct turned back to the MT, ignoring Gladio completely. “I know you’ve been through a lot. But you made it, and you’re with us now. We’re going to help you however we can.”

Clearly this was what Noctis had been marinating over all day. It wasn’t unreasonable, though Ignis would have preferred it if they had discussed the matter privately beforehand – the MT was still an MT, and the risks associated with his presence had to be weighed carefully. Judging by Gladio’s thunderous expression, he felt the same.

Granted, that might have been why Noct chose to handle it this way instead.

The MT was staring at Noctis as though he were a thousand-eyed, thousand-winged messenger of the gods: utterly incomprehensible.

“If you try anything funny, I’ll end you in a heartbeat,” Gladio said, ignoring Noct’s scowl. “All right?”

The MT sat up straighter and fixed his eyes on Gladio’s breastbone. “I understand.”

He’d done it as naturally as Noctis would draw a weapon from the armiger.

“Pay attention now,” Ignis heard himself say, with a tone of command. The MT’s red gaze was on him instantly. Ignis thought fast. “Tell me truthfully: is there any other reason you came here, besides what you’ve told us already? Is your story about running away from your doomed unit true?”

“Yes,” the MT said. “I mean … there’s no other reason. What I told you is true.”

“That’s good,” Ignis said.

The others were staring at him. Noct’s brow was wrinkled. “What are you …”

“Tell me,” Ignis pressed on, because while he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, it seemed important to be authoritative while he did it. “Have you killed Lucians?”

“Yes,” the MT said, and the readiness with which he admitted it made Ignis feel more confident he could trust the rest of his answers.

“How many?” Ignis asked.

“I don’t know.”

“If you had to guess,” Gladio prompted, low and serious.

“I … I … I don’t know.”

“More than ten?” Noct asked.

“Yes.” The MT’s answer was quiet but unhesitant.

Noct’s eyes slipped shut. “More than fifty?”

“I don’t know. No. I don’t know.”

“Never mind,” Ignis said. He didn’t want to derail the conversation over that. “Tell me: have you at any point considered harming any of us?”

The MT scrunched his face. “ _No_.”

“Not ever? Why not?”

It took the MT a moment to puzzle out an answer. “No orders. I’d never, none of us would ever … Violence against anything other than a designated target means automatic termination.”

Likely a measure to prevent the MTs from turning on their minders. “That’s very good. Now, listen to me,” Ignis said firmly. “You will not harm anyone under this roof. You will not harm anyone at all. Do you have any standing orders from your old handlers?”

“I did,” the MT said, “but I disobeyed one and ran away, so I think … not anymore.”

“That’s good. Acknowledge what I said before. You will not harm anyone.”

“I will not harm anyone,” the MT said. “I understand.”

“Stop it, Ignis,” Noct said. “We’re not his … _handlers_ , and he’s not … we can’t …”

“We have to work with what’s in front of us,” Ignis said. “His rehabilitation is not the only consideration. Our safety is important as well.” _Your_ safety, he meant, and he could tell Noctis heard him by the sour look on his face.

“Iggy’s right,” Gladio said. “So listen to _me_. Don’t try to leave. You won’t get away this time, I guarantee it. And don’t give us away. No trying to contact anyone, and no doing anything that might call attention to this location.”

“I understand,” the MT replied. He stared at a point between Gladio and Ignis. The sheet had slipped from his shoulders, and bare-chested as he was Ignis could see he was beginning to shake from the effort of sitting up straight.

“You may relax,” Ignis said, speaking gently now. If they were in fact rehabilitating this MT, he may as well begin. “Lean back against the sofa. I imagine you’re tired.”

The MT sagged back until he met the cushions. He tried to tug the sheet a little higher around him, but abandoned the job quickly.

“Would you like some more water?” Ignis asked.

He nodded quickly. In retrospect, that really should have been Ignis’ first question.

Gladio relinquished Noct’s arm with a warning glare and turned toward the kitchen. He banged the cabinet door shut after extracting a glass. The sink ran.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Noct said quietly. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

“Oh. It’s okay.” The MT tracked Gladio’s movements attentively – but whether that was because he was wary of Gladio or because he was eager to have a drink, Ignis couldn’t say.

Gladio returned and offered the MT a tall plastic cup. The MT slowly took it with both hands. He looked up at Gladio, as if waiting for additional guidance. When there was none, he put the cup to his lips and drank deeply. At length he pulled the cup away, gasping for air. He took a few more gulps, the last two with visible difficulty, before offering the remaining water back to Gladio.

By the end of this display, Gladio was grinding his teeth together so ferociously Ignis was surprised there was anything left of them. “Keep it,” he muttered.

“Drink it when you want to,” Ignis said. “When it’s gone, we’ll give you more.”

The MT looked between him and Gladio, plainly wrongfooted. He tucked the cup into the crook of his injured arm and held it close.

“The next order of business is to get you cleaned up,” Ignis said. The MT was covered in dried sweat and blood and bits of grass. “Do you think you’ll be able to stand?”

Almost before Ignis was finished speaking, the MT was sliding off the sofa. It took a moment for him to get his feet under him – and as Ignis watched, he realized these might be the first steps he’d taken outside his armor in a very long while.

“Are you certain you can manage?”

“I’m fit for duty, if that’s what you mean,” the MT said with a hint of worry.

“You’re not on duty,” Noctis countered.

“That’s certainly true,” Ignis said, “but perhaps it would be easier on our guest if we didn’t force him to stand around and debate the issue.”

The bathroom was just around the corner, at the near end of the hall that gave access to the cottage’s three small bedrooms, but the MT’s steps were slow and uncertain.

Gladio shadowed him impassively. “Think I’d better come in there and give you a hand. Want to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t collapse in the shower.”

Gladio met Ignis’ gaze for a brief moment, and Ignis knew those were two separate objectives with very different aims.

The MT did not. “You want to monitor me, and you don’t have surveillance cameras? I understand. But I won’t fall. I would never waste time or risk damaging your equipment.”

“I want to make sure you don’t collapse in the shower so you don’t hurt yourself,” Gladio said.

The MT’s face went through a range of expressions before settling on a dizzy frown. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Gladio said. “And I think we gotta leave that out here.”

The MT clutched the cup tighter for a split second before surrendering it for someone to take.

Before Ignis could stop him, Noct was right in front of the MT. Closer than he’d been yet. Close enough that if this was all some bizarre assassination attempt, the MT could easily reach Noctis before Ignis or Gladio could get between them.

“I’ll hold onto it for you,” Noct said. “Is that okay? Just for a few minutes, and when you come out I’ll give it back.” Noct held out his hand.

The MT passed the cup to him reflexively. Obediently. Not because he believed Noct’s words, but because Noct had asked him to.

Noct’s smile slipped. “I promise you I’ll give it back. Don’t worry.”

“It’s okay,” the MT said. His legs were trembling more all the time. Gladio ushered him into the bathroom and out of sight, throwing a dangerous-sounding “wait here” over his shoulder at Noct. Noct did so, and Ignis stood dutifully beside him.

The water came on in the bathroom, followed by the low rumble of Gladio’s voice, and then Gladio opened the door and wedged himself half-in and half-out of it – a haphazard but effective way of talking to Noct and Ignis without leaving the MT truly alone.

“I don’t know what you were thinking with that little speech, Noct,” Gladio began, “but …”

“I’m thinking he can’t leave, like Cor said,” Noct cut in. “And I _know_ we’re not killing him, like I said. Our only choices are to chain him up in the supply cellar and feed him twice a day like he’s a thing or actually take care of him like he’s a person who’s been hurt. Which isn’t really a choice. Not for me.”

Gladio glowered down at Noctis for several long heartbeats. Then he disappeared into the bathroom and the door snicked shut.

Noct blinked at the door. His mouth twitched, as though he couldn’t quite decide if he’d won that exchange or not. Ignis wasn’t certain himself.

“What if he hurts him?” Noct asked.

The suggestion was almost offensive to the piece of Ignis that was devoted to Gladio and simultaneously not entirely far-fetched. Noctis seemed dead-set on keeping Gladio from neutralizing the threat the MT presented. If something happened behind closed doors … well, what was done would be done.

But such an act would destroy Noct’s trust in Gladio. A trust hard-earned, an important part of the bond between a Shield and his king. Gladio was decisive sometimes to the point of rashness, but that he wouldn’t do lightly.

“He won’t, Noct,” Ignis said. “Not unless the MT attacks him.”

Noct stared at the doorknob for a moment more. “I know,” he admitted, grudgingly. He paced over to the kitchen, plunked the cup down onto the table, and collapsed into a chair. He radiated indignation.

Perhaps that was understandable. Noctis was the sovereign, uncrowned though he was, but Gladio (and to some extent Ignis himself) were resisting the course he’d indicated.

Ignis chose his next words with care. “Are you prepared for the possibility this will end poorly?”

Noct looked up at him narrowly. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no telling what a lifetime of being an MT will have done to him. He may be irredeemably violent. He may have trouble adapting to self-determination. He may not even be able to survive without the control unit, as harsh as that is to contemplate. It may not be within our power to give him a happy ending. Can you accept that if it comes to pass?”

Noct stared vacantly at the grain of the table. The spark that had awoken in him with the arrival of the MT guttered before Ignis’ eyes. “No matter what happens, it has to be better than what he would’ve had,” Noct said quietly. “Even if he doesn’t make it. Right?”

That was beyond doubt. And for better or worse, the MT’s life was in their hands. Noct was right about that.

Ignis expected the MT would need something to eat soon and the broth on the stove wouldn’t be ready for hours, so Ignis set about preparing another of the foods the medics had suggested – oatmeal fortified with protein powder for nutritional density. Perhaps that was a bit aspirational, but with no access to the intravenous nutrition he was accustomed to from the control unit, it would be important to get the MT to tolerate solid food as quickly as possible.

Ignis was just turning the pot of oatmeal to a low simmer to thicken when there was a clatter of noise from the bathroom. For less than a heartbeat Ignis felt the first rise of panic. Then he heard Gladio’s rumbling voice and perhaps the thin thread of the MT’s, muffled by the door.

“Is everything all right?” Ignis called.

“We’re fine,” Gladio answered.

That seemed unlikely, but Ignis chose to take him at his word.

When they came out, Gladio had lost his shirt and his pants were half-soaked. He had the MT in his arms. The MT’s skin was pinked from the hot water and he wore a pair of Noct’s pajama pants. They fit him well and hid some of the Scourge. His hair hung clean and damp in his face. He looked a great deal more like a person than he had when they’d pulled him out of the armor. It aided the effect that his unnatural eyes were closed.

“Is everything all right?” Ignis asked.

“Yeah, he just got tired,” Gladio said. His grimace told Ignis that was probably not all there was to the story. Ignis had heard the clatter. The MT hadn’t asked for more water – he’d stayed silent until it was offered to him. Ignis could imagine the MT pushing himself to the limit of his endurance, standing on his unsteady legs for as long as he could physically support himself. Folding before he asked for help.

They would need to be extremely conscious of his physical needs, at least for the time being. Clearly he would not communicate them himself – because he had been conditioned not to. By dozens or hundreds of people, in a coordinated effort to strip the MT of his personhood.

Ignis could barely comprehend it.

Gladio set the MT down by the kitchen table and helped him get settled in one of the chairs. Noct slid the cup of water – which he’d filled again – across the surface so it was in front of the MT. “Just like I promised. It’s yours again.”

The MT picked it up cautiously and took another long drink. He set it back on the table, exactly where Noct had positioned it.

Ignis wasn’t certain whether that was progress or not, but he pressed on. “We need to properly bandage your injuries,” Ignis continued. “Your arm, and your …” He didn’t know how to describe them. Didn’t particularly want to describe them. The metal fixtures that had allowed the armor to be bolted to his body.

The MT traced his fingers and his gaze along the line of them running down his left arm. A few had been pulled free, leaving bloody craters in their wake. The remainder had been wrenched by the removal of the armor. The sites were inflamed and a few glistened bright red around the edges. “The ports,” he said.

“Indeed,” Ignis replied.

“If you don’t have a place to restrain me, I can hold still.” The MT lay his injured forearm out on the table, visibly steeling himself for whatever treatment he expected Ignis to administer. For the pain he expected _Ignis_ to visit on him.

That was even harder to comprehend. This young man, this twenty-year-old human being, couldn’t conceive of an interaction he didn’t have to _endure_. He had never in his life been cared for.

His presence was inconvenient. Helping him was unwise, unsafe. Of course they would do it regardless. Noctis had seen all of that instantly. Ignis could see it now.

Ignis eased the MT’s arm toward him by the elbow. To his word, he didn’t so much as twitch. Ignis set about removing makeshift bandage tied around the MT’s wound as gently as he possibly could.

\---------

MT watched in fascination as Ignis’ fingers worked on him. He was so careful as he peeled away the bloody fabric a little bit at a time, moistening it with water where it was stuck to MT’s ragged skin. That kept it from pulling at his throbbing, aching arm, but it took longer. Ignis was spending a lot more time than one of the doctors back at the barracks would have.

“You can go faster,” MT said. “I can handle it.” He’d debated not saying anything. But these people were helping him, and he didn’t want to make them waste their time for no reason.

Ignis paused, his hands still on MT’s arm. “To go faster would cause you unnecessary pain, which I have no intention of doing. In fact, it’s my intention to avoid it. If at any point I do hurt you, I hope you’ll tell me.”

 _I hope you’ll tell me._ That wasn’t an order, not really. But it was a statement directed at MT. _I hope_ meant Ignis wanted him to do it. Maybe it was an order after all. But why didn’t he say it like one?

Ignis was still looking through the top of his glasses at MT, and he hadn’t started working again. They were all looking at him – Noct sitting on the right side of the table, Gladio standing at his shoulder. MT was supposed to respond. He knew better than to say ‘I understand’ if he didn’t, but these people said too many things he didn’t understand for him to try to clarify all of them. So he just said, “Okay.”

Ignis continued removing the fabric as carefully as before. MT’s throat started to feel a little tight. He swallowed it down and focused on paying attention to Ignis.

“I’m sure your arm hurts rather badly,” Ignis said. “Yes?”

“Yes,” MT said.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis said. “Is there any pain in your hand or fingers, or your wrist? Beyond what may be radiating from your wound?”

“No,” MT said.

“None at all? Is there any unusual sensation? Numbness, tingling?”

“Tingling, maybe. In my hand and fingers.”

Ignis’ careful touch abandoned the half-stuck cloth and moved down to MT’s hand. “Can you flex the fingers on both hands for me? Try straightening them and curling them.”

MT brought his other arm up onto the table and flattened both of his hands. At least, he tried to. His right one acted normal. His left one didn't do so well. The two last fingers straightened out, but the rest only half-followed them.

MT’s mouth felt dry. "It ... doesn't work." He tried balling his hands into fists, and that was exactly the same. His left hand wouldn't close all the way. His trigger finger and the next one over barely moved at all.

Ignis was kind of cradling MT’s left hand, and he squeezed MT’s wrist very lightly. “It’s all right. It looks like you’re experiencing some diminished range of motion?”

MT tried to settle his heart. He was defective. Unfit for service. That meant automatic termination.

"I spoke to some doctors on the phone while you were asleep,” Ignis was saying, “and based on my description of the way the control unit was … installed, let’s say, they were concerned its abrupt removal may have damaged your radial nerve. I'm very sorry that appears to be the case. It's possible that with time and therapy you may regain more movement in your hand. I’ll discuss the matter with them this evening and see what they recommend.”

MT was already marked for termination by his superiors. That’s why he ran away. These people weren’t going to terminate him because his hand didn’t work. Surely.

“Even if it never gets better,” Noct said, “at least you're alive. That’s what matters."

That tightness returned to the back of MT’s throat, just for a moment.

Ignis slowly released MT’s hand so it lay on the table and went back to unsticking the cloth. "May I ask which hand is your dominant hand?"

"Our right hand is our primary in live situations,” MT said, “but we drill weapon handling with both so we can switch if the primary hand is incapacitated."

"He means which one was easier to learn, or which one do you like using?” Noct asked. "You’re allowed to have a preference.”

"Though it's all right if you do not," Ignis cut in.

"My right hand," MT said quickly. He had an answer for Noct’s question, and he wanted to share it. "It was always easier."

Noct smiled, and it was all MT could see. MT smiled back at him without even thinking about it. "Good," Noct said. "That's really good."

“Yes, it’s fortunate your preferred hand is all right,” Ignis said. The last bit of fabric came free from MT’s skin. Ignis put the bloody cloth off to the side, which meant MT could see his injury: a raw red rectangle where his control unit used to be.

MT’s head started to slide. He wasn’t feeling good to start with and even though he’d seen injuries before, this was _his_ arm.

“Hey, look at me,” Noct said, so MT complied. Noct started to reach his hand across the corner of the table toward MT, but Gladio growled and he yanked it back. “Just look at me,” Noct said again. “Ignis will patch you up.”

MT nodded.

“I’m afraid this will hurt,” Ignis said. “I need to disinfect the wound and see if there’s anywhere stitches might be beneficial. It’s quite deep in some places. We can take a break at any point if you need one.”

“I can handle it,” MT said.

“I’m sure you can,” Gladio said. “He’s saying you have permission to ask for a break if you _want_ one.”

If he wanted one. “Okay,” MT said, quietly.

Ignis was right. The cleaning did hurt. But MT knew it would be over eventually, so he just breathed and looked at Noct. At his feathery black hair, and his nice symmetrical face, and the lean strength in his arms, and his hands lying loose on the table in front of him. Apparently he wasn’t allowed to reach for MT, even though he talked like he was the one in charge sometimes.

“I believe … I will give you a stitch or two,” Ignis said. “I do wish I were a doctor, in moments like these.”

Gladio laughed. “What, think you could’ve squeezed in a quick trip to medical school while you were working on your bachelor’s and running the whole damn …”

“Sh,” Ignis said harshly, and MT saw the surprise he felt ripple across Noct’s face. But he continued in the calm voice he’d been using before. “I take your point, though. This scenario is one we could never have reasonably prepared for. I only mean … I’m afraid he’ll have a harder time of it than he would if he had access to professional care.”

“Could be,” Gladio said. “But it’s like you said. We have to work with what we’ve got.”

“Ignis has some EMT training,” Noct said, directly to MT. “We’re not just sticking you with needles.”

“It’s okay,” MT said. He didn’t know what an EMT was, but he got the point, and Ignis did seem to know what he was doing. Not that it really mattered. These people could do whatever they wanted to MT, and he couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to try.

Ignis did stick him with a needle then, and he could feel the thread sliding through him like fire, and everything started to swim around Noct’s vibrant blue eyes …

There was a big hand on his chest, and a warm weight around the back of his shoulders. “MT-05953234, awake and awaiting orders,” he mumbled, which is what he knew to always, _always_ say if he’d lost even a sliver of consciousness – so they’d know he hadn’t been listening if they’d given him an order, so they’d know he was ready to listen again.

“Just take it easy,” Gladio said, very near his ear.

“I’m terribly sorry we have to do this,” Ignis said. “I can try administering a topical analgesic. There’s no knowing how anything will interact with the Scourge you’ve been given, but it may be worth the risk.”

“You don’t need to give me anything,” MT said. “I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to just _handle_ it,” Gladio said.

“You were about to pass out from the pain,” Noct said.

“Not the pain. It hurts, but that’s not why. It’s …” MT cut off abruptly. He’d almost just vocalized a complaint. “I can handle it. I’ll do better this time.”

The next stitch didn’t come. “Is something else the matter?” Ignis asked.

MT shook his head.

“You can tell us,” Noct said. “We want you to tell us, so we can help.”

 _We want_ was more of an order than _I hope_ , so MT let it spill out of his mouth. “My nutrition packs ran out with my hydration packs, maybe fifty-five hours ago depending on how long I slept before. I’m starting to feel the lack, and everything makes my head light. I’ll be ready for it this time. I’ll do better.”

There was a second of silence. Then Noct shoved himself back from the table. “I’ll get him the oatmeal.”

“Perhaps we should ask him if he’ll want to eat while I’m in the process of stitching his arm,” Ignis said.

“Get a bowl,” Gladio said. “His right hand’s his favorite, right? He can hold the spoon.” He took his hand off MT’s chest to snag Noct’s chair and pull it around so he could sit right next to MT. “Maybe the food’ll help take his mind off the stitches. If you get do woozy, it’s all right,” he said more quietly, putting his hand loosely around MT’s bicep. “I won’t let you fall again.”

He meant that moment back in the shower, when MT had failed to stay standing. He was focused on keeping his legs from giving out, and then suddenly he was crumpled on the floor of the tub, and he really didn’t know if he could get back on his feet. He was determined to try – he hadn’t come all that way just to be terminated over a shower – but before he could get his limbs figured out, Gladio put his arm under him and lifted him up. MT was stunned by how he felt – warm and hard and alive, right against his skin – and that took the last wisp of strength out of him. He’d been completely useless after that. Gladio never even reprimanded him for wasting time. He just washed the soap out of MT’s hair for him with big careful hands, and toweled him off and dressed him right there on the edge of the tub, and picked up MT as easily as if he weighed nothing at all.

By the time Noct got back to the table with a bowl in his hand, Ignis had put another stitch in MT’s arm and that thick lump had returned to the back of his throat, stronger than ever.

Noct put the bowl in front of MT. It was full of steaming tannish food, and it smelled incredible. This was for him to eat? He looked up at them to verify.

“Everything all right?” Gladio asked. “You good with a spoon?”

“I realize it’s been Astrals-know-how-long since you’ve eaten this way,” Ignis said, “but with our limited resources we have no way to feed you intravenously. I apologize if that’s your preference. Or … is it that you don’t like oatmeal?”

MT didn’t understand the second question, so he answered the first. “We used spoons before our control units were installed.” He grasped the spoon, scooped up a bite, and stuck it in its mouth.

It was _good_ , just as good as it smelled, and hot, but MT didn’t care about that. He needed the nourishment, and he hadn’t had oral nutrition in years. He took a second bite as fast as he could and went back for a third.

He didn’t notice Gladio’s hand coming off his arm, but his command to “Stop!” froze MT in place with the spoon almost to his mouth. Gladio reached for it and MT’s heart sank through the floor, but Gladio stopped short.

“You’re gonna burn yourself,” Gladio said. “You probably already have burned yourself. You’ve gotta wait.”

There was a sensation in MT’s mouth. Pain, now that Gladio mentioned it. It was hard to tell sometimes, since so many things hurt. MT wanted the food badly, but they would probably let him eat it eventually and he could wait however long Gladio wanted.

Noct looked horrified. “Sorry. I didn’t think ... I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m supposed to wait,” MT said, “I understand,” hoping that would pacify him.

It didn’t. “You were eating it even though it hurt. But you’re just … waiting, because. You’re like.” Noct rubbed his face, agitated.

“Some of them call us Empties, like a joke on MTs, and Blanks.” As soon as the words were out of MT’s mouth, he regretted them. He wished he could snatch those ideas out of the air and put them back inside him where they couldn’t see.

It was okay, though. These people were so nice. They would probably still help him. Ignis would be careful with his injury, and Gladio would hold him up if he couldn’t stand, and they would let him eat this food – maybe, eventually, just wait – and it wouldn’t matter at all if Noct thought MT was blank inside. Noct could call him an Empty if he wanted to.

MT’s throat felt so tight he thought he might have trouble eating the food even if Gladio told him to.

Noct was staring at him with damp, incredulous eyes. “You’re not _blank_ ,” he said. “Who could think that?”

MT repeated those words in his mind, checking to make sure they meant what he thought. He noticed he was starting to breathe faster and harsher, and the spoon in his hand trembled, and the lump in his throat had spread to his chest and the corners of his eyes. Then he let out a ragged sob, and Gladio’s hands were back on him – “Six, fuck, what’s wrong?” – and Noct looked like he wanted to vault over the corner of the table toward him no matter what Gladio said.

“I’m not blank,” MT tried to explain, but it came out wet and uneven. “I’m not blank.”

“Damned right, you’re not,” Gladio said, squeezing him around the shoulders, and MT sank toward his warmth a little before he could stop himself.

Then one of Gladio’s big hands was inexorably pulling the spoon out of his grasp, and for a second MT was seized with the panic that he’d done something wrong and ruined everything, which dragged another sob out of him. But Gladio put the spoon in the bowl and pulled MT closer to his chest, and the living heat of him was like some kind of tranquilizer. For a minute MT couldn’t do anything but lean on him and try to soak up as much of it as possible and cry.

He tried to stop, and when that didn’t work he tried not to make very much noise. He was so used to the helmet, to people not being able to see what he was feeling.

He could feel the thrumming in Gladio’s chest, and the way his breath moved in him. It was staggering.

“You’re going to be happier here,” Noct said. “Everything’s going to be better. All right?”

That wasn’t anything like order, so none of MT’s standard responses would work, but he had to say something. MT was starting to understand what Noct meant when he said those kinds of things, and it was impossible, but maybe it was also real. “Thank you.”

Gladio made a low noise. “Six, he’s serious.”

“Is that not right? ‘Thank you’? I thought maybe it was for when someone did something nice for you.” He’d heard regular people saying it to each other. The trainers and the doctors and his superiors.

“Yes, that’s right,” Ignis said. “And you’re very welcome.” He was smoothing his fingers lightly over the edge of a big gauze bandage taped over the injury on MT’s arm. He must’ve kept stitching while MT was distracted. MT hadn’t even noticed.

Gladio helped him sit up straight again and handed him the spoon. “Sorry about that. I know you’re hungry.” He kept his arm around MT’s back. In case he got woozy, like he’d said.

Ignis held MT’s malfunctioning hand in both of his own, slowly rubbing MT’s palm with one thumb. “You may go on and eat your oatmeal. It’s cool enough now.”

Noct gave him an encouraging nod, and MT ate. He could taste the food more now that it was cooler, even though his mouth still stung, and it was even better than before.

Eventually Gladio went, “Hmph. Since we’re not having any of that Empty crap, what are we supposed to call you?”

“My designation is MT-05953234,” he said, “but they just call us all MT.”

“They called you all the same thing?” Noct was frowning.

“The guards and superiors can’t know every MT’s number,” MT explained. “We all look the same anyway, in the armor. They only use our full designation when they’re accessing our unit file, which they do during compliance tests, and to give disciplinary assignments, and if we need medical corrections …”

Noct laughed.

“What the hell,” Gladio said.

“You only heard your whole number when you were in trouble,” Noct said. “Like when Ignis calls me by my full name when I try to hide my vegetables under my napkin. I know right away I’m in for it.”

MT only half understood, but Noct was smiling, so he smiled back.

“Well, we’re not calling you MT-anything,” Gladio said.

“Unless you truly want us to,” Ignis argued.

“No way,” Noct said firmly. “You need a name.”

“Okay.” He wasn’t really an MT anymore anyway, so it made sense. But MT didn’t know any names. “Will you name me?”

Noct looked uncomfortable. “I can’t … your name should be yours. What do you want to be called?”

“It can be something with personal significance,” Ignis said.

“Or just something you like,” Gladio said. “Maybe a word you like the sound of.”

He’d really rather Noct pick it. He didn’t even know where to start. But they all wanted him to do it, so he tried to think. Personal significance. “In my thirteenth year of operation they moved us to a new barracks, and in one of the showers for my unit there was a tile that was blue instead of grey. I don’t know why. It was just a mistake, I think. We were in those barracks for the first two years of armor training, and the training was harder than anything we’d ever had, but there was always the chance I’d get slotted into that stall when we washed down before rest. And when I wanted to give up, I’d think, I have to make it to the end of the day because maybe I’ll get to see the blue tile.” It felt a little strange saying something he _thought_ , a memory that was all in his head, out loud like that. “So maybe … tile?”

“You can’t be named _tile_ ,” Noct said, and it came out so raw it startled him. “You can’t be named after anything from that place.”

“Oh,” the MT whispered.

“You can be named after anything you like,” Ignis said, shooting Noct a look. “And I can see why that experience is personally significant to you. All he means is … there’s no need to rush into choosing the name itself. Give yourself some time to explore the topic.”

MT nodded, relieved. “Okay.”

“We can of course help you with the decision,” Ignis said. “If you like.”

“And you can name yourself whatever you want,” Noct said quietly. “Ignis is right. I didn’t mean it like that, not really.”

“It’s okay,” MT said, and Noct didn’t look like he liked that, but he didn’t say anything.

Gladio cleared his throat. “We still need something to call him.”

A beat. Noct mumbled something.

“Huh?” Gladio said.

“Prompto,” Noct repeated, his cheeks getting pink.

“Because he was so eager,” Ignis said thoughtfully. “Amusing. And perhaps appropriate. What do you think?”

That question was directed at him. “Prompto,” he said, feeling it in his mouth. “I like it.” He liked that Noct gave it to him.

“Then it’s Prompto for now,” Gladio said. “When you pick a real name, you can let us know.”

Prompto took another bite of oatmeal, utterly failing to keep a big smile off his face. He’d never been given anything nice before, and he felt good.

At the same time, a small ache twisted inside him. Eventually they were going to make him pick something different to be called and then he’d never hear ‘Prompto’ again. But it was okay. Even if it was just a temporary name for everyone else, he could always say it silently to himself. It was a word in his mind, and that meant he could keep it forever, tucked carefully away in his chest.

\---------

Gladio didn’t think there was anything _amusing_ about the name ‘Prompto’, but he hadn’t spoken up fast enough to stop that train before it left the station, so he’d just have to keep his mouth shut about it. At least it was temporary.

Earlier, in the shower, the MT had hit the deck with no warning. Yeah, he was shaking like a leaf, but he’d been doing that the whole time. Gladio couldn’t have known anything was wrong.

That was an excuse. Gladio watched the MT walk. He knew something was wrong.

But he was trying to give the MT some privacy, maybe because he felt bad for him already and maybe because the black stuff under his skin made Gladio’s skin crawl, when suddenly shampoo bottles were flying and the MT was lights-out on the floor under the spray. Gladio dove right in after him, and when he came to in Gladio’s arms, he said that damned thing. ‘MT-whatever, awake and awaiting orders.’ Like even though he was so beat he couldn’t sit on the edge of the tub without support, some corner of his brain thought someone might give him an order and expect him to try to follow it.

So, no. Gladio didn’t think it was funny calling him ‘ready man’.

But he liked it. The MT, Prompto, the literal living weapon sitting at their kitchen table, was grinning like a loon into his oatmeal over a half-assed name.

Ten minutes ago he burst into tears because they were treating him like a goddamn human being.

He had to be strong when he wasn’t exhausted. Gladio could see he was all muscle, could feel it beneath his hands (nothing extra, just functional fiber, just the stuff that was useful to those Niff bastards), and he’d hauled that armor however far he’d come. He didn’t act strong, though. He didn’t try to resist anything they did to him, even when it hurt. Even when Gladio went for his spoon, threatening to take the literal food from his mouth.

In Gladio’s defense, Prompto was scarfing down scalding oatmeal as fast as he could. Why? The list of possible explanations was a mile long. Because he was weak and hungry. Because it was real fucking food. Because he thought they might suddenly decide to take it away from him.

Because someone had taken a human being and beaten him and broken him and poked holes in him until they’d convinced him that was what he was meant for. Until all that was left was a mechanical, hunted thing.

“I’m afraid it probably doesn’t taste very good, with the addition of the protein powder,” Ignis was saying, and Gladio forced himself to bury that molten-red train of thought and focus on the present.

“Ignis is an incredible chef,” Noct said. “You’ll find out for yourself soon enough.”

“The last oral nutrition they had us on, at fifteen years operation, was thick and lumpy and left a sour taste behind,” Prompto said. “This is much better than that. It’s, uh, sweet?”

“The protein stuff is chocolate flavored,” Gladio said, trying not to think about what Prompto was saying.

“Chocolate,” Prompto said, like he was trying out a word he’d never used before. He took another bite. “It’s good.”

Noct scoffed and got up from the table. “Give me a sec,” he said, heading off down the hall toward the bedrooms.

Prompto followed him with vigilant eyes. He rubbed his face against his shoulder, wiping away a couple stray tears, before taking another bite of oatmeal. “I’m not … disrupting your scheduled operations, am I?” he asked, his mouth full. “Whatever those are?”

“Certainly not,” Ignis said immediately.

“You’re fine.” Gladio didn’t want to know what horror story was playing out under that pinched little forehead. “Don’t worry about him.”

Noct reappeared like he’d been summoned. He was tearing at the wrapper of a chocolate bar, one of Ignis’ apparently-not-so-secret stockpile for Extra Bad Days. “That protein stuff is gross,” he said. “You should try the real thing.”

“The … what?” Prompto’s whole attention migrated to Noct, and he let his spoon clink down into his half-empty bowl.

“Chocolate.” Noct broke off a square and held it out to Prompto. “Here.”

Prompto took the chocolate very slowly. He held it flat between his fingers where it was gonna melt all over him. He didn’t know it would do that. “Do I eat it? All at once?”

“Try a small bite,” Gladio said. “It’s strong stuff.” At least compared to what he was used to. Which was nothing.

Prompto put it to his mouth and carefully snapped the corner off between his teeth. For a moment, he didn’t react. Then his eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“Oh, good?” Noct said.

“Oh, _wow_.” He bit the rest of the square in half, grinning up at Noct in delight in a way that made two warring protective impulses bare their teeth in Gladio’s chest. “It’s unbelievable. How can anything taste like that?”

Noct relaxed. “I dunno. Chocolate’s one of the wonders of the world.”

Gladio had to keep this _thing_ – enemy, biohazard, MT – away from Noct.

“A recipe involving large amounts of sugar helps,” Ignis added. Prompto ate the rest of the square and licked his fingers slowly, reverently, thoroughly clean.

Gladio had to make sure nothing bad ever happened to Prompto again.

Noct was giving Prompto a smile he hadn’t worn in six months. “Do you want …”

“He can have more later,” Gladio said, with a voice steadier than he felt, before Noct could finish making the offer. “Too much too fast might make him sick.”

“Sure,” Noct nodded, folding the wrapper back over the bar. “Something to look forward to, right?”

Prompto stared up at him. “Oh,” he said, stunned.

That was it. That was the exact moment Gladio finished the shift from trying to figure out if he was going to have to kill Prompto to trying to figure out how to kill anyone who’d ever had control over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladio: I’ve only known Prompto for six hours, but if anything happened to him I’d kill everyone in this room and then myself. Except Noct, because he’s my king … and myself, because my life is sworn in his service.
> 
> Ignis: Well, then.


	3. SOS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how last time I said "I don't think the next update will take three months", because here I am ... three months later ... exposed for being completely un-self-aware. Anyway.
> 
> I did some cursory research into pneumonia, symptoms, complications, etc. Then I threw it all out and wrote this. Just so we’re clear: the Scourge is made up and so is everything that happens below.
> 
> Chapter warnings: vomiting, sickfic, angst. The narrative once again glances at vague medical eating issues, but I’m not going down that path and after this chapter we’ll leave it behind for good.

Ignis taped gauze pads over the worst of Prompto’s ports, and Prompto kept working on his oatmeal, and Gladio tried to stick the pieces of his brain back into their proper holes.

“You don’t have to finish it,” Noct said, and yeah, maybe Prompto was kind of hesitating between bites. “You can have more later. Whenever you want.”

“It will take time for your body to adjust to your new diet,” Ignis said. “For a while you’ll probably be most comfortable eating small portions throughout the day, and we’ll make sure you have them.”

The spoon clinked into the bowl, and Prompto put his hand to his stomach. “Okay. I’m …”

“Full,” Gladio supplied.

Then his other hand flew to his lips.

“The bathroom,” Ignis said quickly, but Gladio was already dragging him up, half-carrying him across the cottage.

Prompto kept his hands clapped over his mouth until they got there, until Gladio got him to the toilet and he understood what they wanted from him. Then he tightened up under Gladio’s hands and spilled his guts into the water. His legs wouldn’t hold him up, so Gladio lowered him carefully to his knees. He leaned over the bowl with shaking arms, and Gladio kept a hand under him for good measure. The last thing they needed was the kid face-planting into the porcelain. Tears welled in his eyes, and Gladio had no idea if it was normal throwing-up crying or if Prompto was extra freaked out because he hadn’t vomited since he was three or something. Gladio rubbed his back, channeling years of watching Jared taking care of Iris. “You’re all right,” he said uselessly.

When retching transitioned into ragged breathing, Gladio guided Prompto back onto his heels. He slumped against the support of Gladio’s arm, and the expression he wore was bewildered and betrayed.

“That’s not full,” Gladio said. “That’s queasy. My bad.”

Noct passed Gladio a wet washcloth, which he used to wipe around Prompto’s mouth. Ignis reached past them to flush everything away, but he stopped short. “Ah … is that … normal for you?”

Gladio leaned over to take a look. Mixed with the tan pasty oatmeal were streaks of thick tarry blackness. The same horror-movie blackness that was all under his skin.

Prompto sank back at the sight, wrapping his arms across his stomach. “I don’t know. It wasn’t like that when I was younger. But that was before I got my control unit and the stabilizer.”

Before he got Scourgified. Before he was modified into the mad science experiment currently slumped on their bathroom floor.

Maybe it was “normal” for an MT to have black crap inside him. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, it didn’t seem promising.

“It may simply be that the oatmeal was more than your body is accustomed to handling,” Ignis said. “In which case, I’ll take the blame for choosing it. We’ll try something a little easier next.”

Prompto nodded. That pinched look he’d worn a couple of times was crinkling its way into his face. The worried one.

“But we’ll get to that in due time,” Ignis said, an unyielding lightness in his voice that Gladio knew was fake. “You’re exhausted after your ordeal – quite understandably – and now that you’re cleaned up and patched up, we can get you into bed. Does that sound all right?”

“Bed,” Prompto repeated, surprised.

That meant he hadn’t slept in one recently. Or maybe they just called them something terrible in MT-land. “Yeah, bed,” Gladio said. “Do you want to lie down? Is that good with you?”

“Yes. Yeah,” Prompto said.

Gladio didn’t bother asking if Prompto wanted to try to walk, because he’d say yes and try really hard and collapse in a heap in about three steps. Gladio just scooped him into his arms. Ignis got to cleaning up while Gladio carried Prompto into the third bedroom and Noct trailed after them like a frustrated puppy.

The room was about the size of a large closet, but it was cozy. It had a full bed made up with a patchwork quilt and a nightstand beside it and a little square window. It might be possible for Prompto to climb out that window, Gladio’s threat-sense assessed. Prompto was too weak to stand under his own power for ten minutes, his protective-sense countered, much less survive in the forest for any length of time.

Either way, Gladio wasn’t planning on leaving him alone for a while.

“This will be your room,” Noct said as Gladio settled Prompto in front of the pillows piled against the headboard. “To sleep in. Hope it’s … okay.”

It was probably a thousand times better than he was used to. Noct knew that as well as Gladio.

“This whole bed is for me? The last time we had bunks was at 16 years, and they were stacked three high. After that we were in training armor full time. Then real armor.”

Full time. He’d seen Prompto in that locked-down suit, torn him out himself, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Full time.

Where did he sleep after they put him in the armor? Did they make him sleep standing up like some kind of machine they could just turn off? Did they pump him full of stuff so he didn’t have to sleep at all?

Way too much thinking. Gladio went to start pulling back the covers so Prompto could lie down. Prompto tried to lift himself up, to help.

“Just relax,” Gladio said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay, but, just … I can do things,” Prompto said, that worried crease back on his forehead. “I can do whatever you want. You’re helping me, all of you, and I just want you to know … that … I’m fit for service.”

Gladio growled, who could blame him when Prompto kept saying shit like that, and Noct said, “We know. We know you are. But you don’t have to be.”

“You don’t have to keep trying to prove it to us,” Gladio added, picking up Noct’s thread. He gripped Prompto’s shoulder, like that would help the words sink in. “You’re in bad shape right now, and we’re helping you, just like you said. You have permission to let us.”

Prompto leaned into that hand the way he did every time Gladio touched him. Like on some subconscious level he was desperate to make up for a lifetime deficit of human contact. “Permission?”

Gladio felt fucking stupid. He was sitting here using Crownsguard-speak, “permission to speak freely, sir”, but an MT would never have ‘permission’. He’d be told do to something or he wouldn’t. End of story. “It means you’re allowed. You can do it if you want.”

Prompto’s gaze drifted while he puzzled that one out. “I have permission,” he repeated softly.

Noct handed Gladio the pajama top that went with Prompto’s pants, and yeah, covering up more of Prompto’s skin was a good idea – for keeping him warm and for preserving Gladio’s sanity. Watching Prompto’s face while Ignis gently tended his wounds had been a powerful experience, so Gladio used the same slow care to help him pull the sleeves over his arms.

Then it became clear Prompto had never buttoned a button in his life, so Gladio helped him with that, too.

\---------

Prompto felt lighter and safer than he ever had in his life. The room they’d put him in was bigger than three stacks of bunks combined. Gladio had dressed Prompto in a soft fabric shirt (no more armor, never the armor again), and now he was doing up each of the fasteners for him, slowly and carefully. Prompto felt like he was floating. Like he could lie down motionless in this big wide bed forever. Like he was tired and his head was stuffed with something thick, but he didn’t have to worry.

Of course, part of that might’ve been the nutritional lack. His body rejected the oatmeal. He wondered when the next food would be. Ignis had said ‘throughout the day’, and Prompto didn’t know what that meant. The light outside the window was just starting to edge away from the pale-yellow of daytime. Maybe there was enough left of today that he wouldn’t have to wait until tomorrow. He felt unsteady and strange, and he wanted it to stop.

Ignis came in, and he was holding a foil packet in one hand – the gel they’d given him before – and a glass of opaque brownish liquid with a straw in the other.

More food already. They were letting him try again right away.

“Why don’t you finish this?” Ignis said, handing him the packet. Prompto obeyed. “This,” Ignis continued, meaning the glass, “is milk mixed with protein powder and a crushed up vitamin tablet. A sort of poor man’s nutritional supplement. Hopefully it will sit better with you than the oatmeal. Starting with a few small sips may be best.” He took the empty gel packet from Prompto’s fingers and replaced it with the glass. He didn’t let go until Prompto had it firmly in both hands.

Prompto took a slow drink of the thick liquid and felt it slide down his throat. He willed it to stay there and soak into him.

“I see they got you dressed.” The backs of Ignis’ fingers touched his cheek. “You do feel a bit cold.” He reached for a folded-up cloth sitting on the end of the bed and started unfolding it. It was big.

Prompto took another drink. Ignis eased him forward for a minute and put the cloth around his shoulders. It was a blanket, he decided, even though it was soft and thick and a beautiful white.

“One more sip,” Ignis said, and Prompto obeyed and then handed him the glass. “We’ll leave it right here beside you. After a little while, if you feel all right, you can have more.”

“Thank you,” Prompto said.

“Of course,” Ignis said, wrapping the blanket forward around Prompto, arms and all.

Prompto couldn’t help it. He turned his head and buried his nose and mouth in the fabric.

“Are you all right?” Ignis asked.

“Does something hurt?” Noct said, edging up next to him.

“No, I just … like it. This, blanket? It’s fluffy, and it feels really nice.” He clenched his hands in it, pulling it tight around his shoulders. “It’s like it’s … holding me. Almost like the armor, but exactly the opposite. It’s amazing.” They didn’t say anything for so long that Prompto looked up. They were looking at him, and they looked unhappy. Noct did, at least. “Is that wrong?”

“No, it’s good that you like it,” Ignis said. “It’s very good.”

“You can have it,” Noct said. “The blanket. It’s yours.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Ignis said. “Your own personal possession. The first of many, I hope.”

A personal possession. The guards carried wallets with photos in them. MT armor and equipment and enhancements belonged to the Empire. Everything in this house was Noct’s and Ignis’ and Gladio’s. They were saying the blanket could be Prompto’s. “Wow. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Ignis sat down on the edge of the bed. “Prompto, may I … Or let’s say, is it all right with you if I give you a hug?”

Prompto dragged his focus away from the soft cloth against his cheek. “What?”

“I’m asking for your permission to touch you,” Ignis said. “To hold you, as you said a moment ago. Is that … something you’d like?”

Permission. _Ignis_ was asking _him_ for permission. To touch him. Prompto nodded quickly, before Ignis could change his mind.

“Then come here,” Ignis said. He cupped his palm around the side of Prompto’s jaw. The leather of his glove was smooth against his skin. Ignis guided him closer, right up against the solidness of himself, then wrapped both arms around him and squeezed.

It felt like a soft squish through the thick folds of the blanket. Ignis was warm, just like Gladio, and Prompto didn’t know if he could ever get enough of it. He tried to press himself closer. His functioning hand wanted to creep up out of the blanket, to hold Ignis back. He pulled it tight to his own chest. He didn’t have permission. He could control himself.

(If he couldn’t, maybe Ignis would stop.)

“It’s all right,” Ignis said. “You may touch me.”

Prompto lay his hand on Ignis’ shoulder, gently, and then gripped the fabric of his shirt. He shuddered as fingers ran up through his hair. Ignis’ hand cradled his head.

“Thank you,” Prompto said, burrowing his face into the corner of Ignis’ neck. “Thank you, thank you.”

“It’s all right,” Ignis said again, squishing Prompto tighter. “You’re very welcome. You don’t have to thank me.”

Prompto just closed his eyes and let himself be held. He wondered if regular people did this all the time. If that’s why they smiled so much.

It lasted a while. Long enough that Prompto’s mind started to slip, but he clung to conscousness. He’d gotten so used to fighting the pull of sleep, trying to stay alive since he abandoned his mission. He could do it again now. This was so nice, and he didn’t want to miss any of it.

“I know you’re tired,” Ignis said.

“It’s okay,” Prompto tried to assure him. He didn’t want to be done.

“It’s all right,” Ignis said. “We’ll hug again if you like. Another time.”

“You need to rest,” Gladio said. “You were out there for four days. A power nap isn’t gonna cut it.”

Prompto nodded, and loosened his grip when Ignis did the same.

“Would you like another drink of the shake?” Ignis asked.

Prompto agreed, and Ignis held the glass so he could reach the straw. Then he slid so he was lying down. The pillow was soft. Ignis fixed the white blanket ( _his_ blanket) around him and Gladio pulled the other blankets up over him. He had to focus, to let sleep creep up on him.

“I’ll sit with him,” Noct said quietly. Prompto felt the end of the bed move.

“Noct …” Gladio began.

“You two have been doing everything,” Noct said. “Seriously. Go take a breather.”

“Very well,” Ignis said, “but you know you mustn’t … that is …”

“You can’t touch him,” Gladio said. “And you can’t let him touch you.”

They were worried about the stabilizer. The serum that let him wear the armor without dying. Regular people didn’t have blackness in their veins.

“You’ve both touched him,” Noct argued.

“Yeah, but you’re you.” Gladio said, which made Ignis sigh. “No contact.”

“Yeah, sure,” Noct muttered.

Gladio drew a breath to respond, but he never actually said anything. Prompto tugged the blankets down in time to see Ignis push him out the door.

Noct sat on the end of the bed, looking at him.

Everything was colorful in the regular world. He’d noticed it before, when he’d gone out on missions, but he’d never had the chance to just look. The cloth over the window was white and so thin it let all the light through. There was a flower on the sill, beautiful and alive, and it was red. The clothes he was wearing were covered in pale yellow dots, and the padded cloth that covered the bed (and him) was actually a bunch of little cloths sewn together with so many colors he couldn’t name them all. Noct’s eyes were the best. They were bluest thing he’d ever seen.

“Sorry about that,” Noct said. “You’re not doing anything wrong, and there’s nothing wrong with you. Gladio’s just being paranoid.”

It took Prompto a second to remember what he was talking about. The stabilizer. Noct wasn’t allowed to touch him.

“It’s okay,” Prompto said. “They’re protecting you, aren’t they?”

Noct looked away. “It’s stupid. They’re actually helping you, and I’m supposed to sit here and do nothing.”

“You’re not. Doing nothing, I mean,” Prompto said. “You’re talking to me. You’re nice.”

“That’s basically nothing,” Noct said.

“It’s not.”

Noct looked back at Prompto then, eyes serious. “I’d like to be able to just … hug you if you want.”

Prompto would like that, so much. “You can’t if it might hurt you. I want to protect you, too.”

Noct’s hand inched across the blanket until it came to rest over Prompto’s ankle. That was probably okay, with the padded cloth between them. “You should rest. Sorry I’m keeping you up.”

Prompto untangled the last of his fraying grip on being awake, and the gentle pressure of Noct’s hand pushed him under.

\---------

Noct’s apathetic “Yeah, sure,” was not a response that filled Gladio with confidence, but Ignis ushered him out of the room anyway, so apparently they were just going to let it go. Which, fine, Noct was a grown-ass adult and if he was going to juggle knives or throw rocks at a garula or rub his hands all over a Scourge-infested MT, there was a limit to what Gladio could do to stop him.

That was infuriating, so Gladio ignored it.

He gave the sofa in the main room a quick once-over and found the sheet had spared it any serious damage, so he sank down onto it and pulled Ignis down to sit beside him.

Ignis came willingly, and after a minute he even lay his head down on Gladio’s shoulder. More and more of his weight collapsed into Gladio as his breathing deepened and slowed – a mindfulness technique he’d borrowed from one of Gladio’s exercise regimes.

When he was completely boneless against Gladio, he turned his head to press his mouth to Gladio’s jacket and murmured, “Am I a fool?”

Gladio slid his hand around Ignis’ waist. “I’d be surprised, but what for?”

“For caring what becomes of this stranger? For allowing him to distract me from my highest priority, from Noctis?”

Gladio wished he could get a second opinion. Wished he could ask his dad. “You’re only a fool if I am.”

“Well that’s hardly reassuring,” Ignis said.

Gladio couldn’t restrain a snort. “You love me.”

“You know that I do,” Ignis replied seriously.

Yeah.

After a while in the silence and the still warmth of Ignis, Gladio relaxed. Noct would do what he knew he had to do, even if he didn’t like it. Gladio had to admit he was pretty good about that. Prompto was asleep, as comfortable as they could make him, and the rest they’d deal with as it came.

His blinks started to last longer and longer, and then the sun jumped across the floor and up the wall, suddenly blazing orange. Gladio’s head was on Ignis’ shoulder now, and Ignis sat like a pillar beside him, eyes open. Probably making plans and counter-plans while Gladio snoozed.

Gladio didn’t know what he’d ever done to deserve him.

There was a muffled thump from down the hall, followed by Noct shouting. Gladio and Ignis were on their feet instantly. Gladio bolted for the back bedroom, mind reeling toward betrayal, almost expecting to catch Prompto halfway out the window or with his hands around Noct’s throat.

He found him on the ground beside the bed, coughing. Black liquid flecked the wooden floor. Noct hovered over him, obeying – barely – the order not to touch him.

“It’s okay,” Prompto gasped out once he’d caught his breath. “It’s okay. I just … got confused.”

“He was trying to report for duty,” Noct said tightly.

Gladio went to help him, and he felt the furnace-heat radiating through his pajamas before he even touched him. He put his hand to Prompto’s forehead. “Ignis, he’s burning up.”

“All right,” Ignis said. “All right, we’ll have to give him some medicine. I’ll get it. Gladio …”

“I got him.” Gladio lifted Prompto back into the bed while Noct watched anxiously.

They set up base camp in the third bedroom. Gladio dragged a chair in from the kitchen and set it beside the bed for Ignis. He took the padded one in the corner of the room. Noct glued himself to the end of the bed. They all held their breath, and thank the Six the medicine didn’t have any serious interaction with whatever was in Prompto’s system – at least, not an obvious one – but it only brought his fever down a little. He was bone tired, but he’d developed some kind of persistent itch in his chest, and he had a hard time getting it to leave him alone long enough to go back to sleep. He kept coughing, and it kept leaving black stuff on his lips. None of them said anything, but none of them liked it – and judging by the look on Ignis’ face when he came back in after his evening phone call, Cor’s docs didn’t either.

Prompto did finally drop off, but he woke in a panic half an hour later, “awaiting orders” and frantically trying to drag himself to his feet. It was like he thought he was late for duty, and if his handlers realized he was too ill to perform he’d be “terminated”.

Gladio caught him before he could fling himself to the floor (and before Noct was overpowered by the impulse to reach out and grab him himself), but Prompto had to practically hack up a lung before he could calm back down. When he did, he was trembling from the effort, and Gladio had to wipe Scourge from his lips.

Gladio settled him back into the bed, and he let his hand lie heavy on Prompto’s side on top of the blankets for a second. “Just try to relax. You’re safe, all right?”

“I can do better,” Prompto said. “I …”

“You’re doing fine,” Gladio interrupted – and damn, he probably shouldn’t do that. He probably should let Prompto speak his piece every time he opened his mouth. But it was too late for that now, so Gladio went on. “You’re just doing what they taught you to do to survive. They’re the ones that made you work way too fucking hard for it. All I’m saying is, you’re all right now.”

“Okay,” Prompto said, and he turned to press his face into the pillow – Gladio thought maybe he was about to start crying again, but Prompto fell right asleep.

It happened again, though, about an hour later, an almost letter-perfect reenactment except Prompto looked even more wilted after his extended coughing fit, and after the third repetition of that messed-up routine – sometime around midnight – Gladio got into the bed with him and sat up against the headboard so Prompto could lie with his little yellow head resting on his chest.

He refused to look at Noct’s stunned face. “Should help his cough anyway,” he grumbled. Ignis was smiling kind of soft, so Gladio ignored him too.

Prompto slumped against him in contented relief, like he was cold to his bones and Gladio was the sun.

It worked, too. The next time Prompto jerked awake and mumbled his mantra, he melted instantly into Gladio’s hold and was back out in under a minute. Something about it let his sleep-clouded mind know he was somewhere else. Maybe because if he’d dreamed everything and he was still back in whatever crate they’d kept him in, he’d never be touched with anything like gentleness.

Eventually Noct went off to his own room to get some sleep. Ignis would only sit still for about fifteen minutes at a stretch before he felt compelled by whatever force made him _him_ to bustle around some more. He did stuff in the kitchen and checked on Noct and alternated feeding Prompto squares of chocolate and sips of shake whenever he was awake, and once (when Prompto wasn’t awake) he reached out and combed his fingers gently through Gladio’s hair.

Gladio dozed some. Prompto’s fever crept slowly, unstoppably higher. Just after dawn, black sludge started leaking out his nose.

\---------

Noctis couldn’t do anything but sit there and watch as Scourge seeped out of Prompto’s body. It came from everywhere. It trickled from his ears and nose and eyes. It upset his stomach. It filled his lungs, choking him as he hacked it up, making his breath whistle and crackle in his chest.

Ignis said it was his body rejecting the “stabilizer” the Niffs had given him. There must’ve been something in whatever the box was pumping through him that made him tolerate it, and now that it was gone he was pushing it all out. That was the doctors’ best guess, anyway.

That sounded like a good thing, but Noctis knew the MTs were never intended to detox. The Empire wouldn’t have cared if he could survive it.

Gladio had a towel for Prompto to cough into, and he tried to keep his face wiped clean. There was a bowl on the nightstand for when he got sick. The rest … it was a losing battle. Black stuff got everywhere. Ignis would burn the pajamas, probably. The sheets were smeared with it.

Near the beginning, when they were still learning how bad it was going to be, a smudge of it got on Prompto’s white blanket and he got really upset. Ignis and Gladio had to untangle the blanket from around him and get it away from him before he would calm down. Ignis promised him he hadn’t ruined it – “I’ll go wash it out right now, it will be good as new within the hour, don’t worry” – and Noctis told him he could have any blanket he wanted in the house if the stain stuck. Any two blankets. All the blankets. Prompto nodded and said, “Thank you,” and looked absolutely heartbroken until Ignis came back with the white one, Scourge-free. He’d folded it up and set it on top of the dresser, where Prompto could see it.

Ignis was busy, Gladio had his hands full (literally and figuratively), and Prompto looked miserable and listless and frightened. Noctis couldn’t do anything to help any of them, so he talked.

He told Prompto about his life. He described his childhood bedroom and his apartment (which he loved, and which was gone now, but he didn’t go into that). Then he started talking about some of the video games he liked. (Kind of like training simulators, Prompto said, he always liked those himself. Something lit up inside Noctis then, but he ignored it, because there was only one thing he could do and he had to focus on doing it.) He told stories about growing up with Ignis and then Gladio at his side, with only the most sensitive parts cut out. (Ignis kept giving him alarmed looks and clearing his throat and trying to change the subject, but Noctis didn’t care. Prompto had to know by now, and it didn’t matter anyway. He was staying.)

Prompto listened, and sometimes he smiled, and when Noctis went down a rabbit hole about fishing lures and apologized for rambling about things Prompto wouldn’t care about, he said he didn’t mind. He liked listening to Noctis’ voice, and he liked knowing there were things he didn’t know about in the world, because they all sounded nice.

Noctis wanted to hug him, or at least hold his hand, but instead he started summarizing some of the books he read for school.

Prompto slept a lot, off and on. He stayed calm as long as Gladio stayed with him – which Gladio did without a word, switching between sitting up with him against the headboard and lying down next to him with a hand on his chest or his back. Ignis kept giving Prompto water and trying to get him to drink as much of the nutrition shake as he could. Prompto was having trouble keeping it down, possibly because of the sludge in his stomach and possibly because his body wasn’t accustomed to handling food that way. (Ignis frowned a lot when he said that, and Noctis didn’t like that somehow the Scourge was the _better_ option in this case).

It was midafternoon when Ignis came in with a fresh glass of shake and Prompto actually whimpered – so quietly, a sound that cut off almost before it started.

“I don’t know if he should have any.” Gladio rumbled, serious, solemn.

“He needs strength to endure this,” Ignis said, and his voice was pretty even. But Noctis could see the dip of his eyebrows. He was scared.

“I know,” Gladio said. “So he can’t waste any puking.”

“I can do better,” Prompto whispered.

Gladio smoothed his hand over Prompto’s back. “You just take it easy. I told you, you’re doing fine, and that’s all you’ve got to do.”

“Small sips of the supplement,” Ignis lobbied. “Paired with the energy gel. And a square of chocolate as often as he wants one.”

“ _One_ small sip every fifteen minutes,” Gladio countered, in a way that indicated he had the final say and that was it. Noctis didn’t know anything, so he didn’t argue.

Prompto only threw up once after that, which was something. But as the afternoon wore on, the coughing got worse. He started to breath quick and deep, like he was running. He was scary tired. Slipping in and out of unconscious against his will. Not wanting to cough as much as he needed to.

When the sun went down and Ignis stepped out to make the evening call, Noctis followed him.

Ignis took a seat at the kitchen table warily. Noctis took the chair at a right angle to him. Ignis fixed him with the look that meant Noctis wasn’t getting away with anything, even if Ignis might be willing to act like he was. “Are you certain you want to participate, Highness?”

Noctis felt a faint string of anger ignite in him. Whenever Ignis called him ‘Highness’ now, he could hear the ‘Majesty’ he was carefully not saying. Noctis didn’t need to be handled with kid gloves.

Didn’t want to need it, anyway.

“Go ahead,” Noctis said, as boredly as he could.

Ignis nodded – if he had real reservations, he hid them well – and connected his phone to the network so he could dial.

Cor answered on the first ring. “Right on time.”

“Of course,” Ignis said. “Noctis is here as well.”

“All right,” Cor replied. “Status update?”

“Noctis is in good health and we have kept him out of contact with the Scourge.” Ignis made eye contact with Noctis, and Noctis tried not to scowl. He was the one who’d wanted to listen in. Ignis was just doing his job. “Gladio and I are still showing no symptoms, now over twenty-four hours after first exposure. Prompto … the MT is very weak.” Ignis sighed. “ _Prompto_ is struggling to keep up with the fluid in his lungs.”

“Prompto,” Cor replied tonelessly. “You named him.”

“He is a person, sir,” Ignis said sharply – without meaning to, maybe, because he looked just as surprised as Noctis felt.

There was a very long pause. “I know, Ignis. Continue with your report.”

Ignis closed his eyes. “Of course, pardon me. His condition is declining steadily, and he was exhausted to begin with. I’m … ahem, he …”

“Ignis. How are you holding up?”

“Perfectly well, Lord Marshall. My apologies. I’m growing afraid he won’t last the night.” Noctis felt his gut sink. “I don’t know that there’s anything more we can do. I …” Ignis pressed a hand over his mouth. He had that look again, that look Noctis didn’t like. Noctis couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think, not about that. He inched his fingers over the surface of the table, toward Ignis, and Ignis grabbed them like Noctis was a lifeline.

“Ignis,” Cor’s steady voice said, “it’s a tough break. You’re out there alone and you’re doing the best you can. It’s not your fault if it’s not enough. It’s just a tough break.”

“Yes, sir,” Ignis rasped.

“If he does go – Ignis, Noctis? – you boys call me, any time of the night. That’s a report I’m going to want immediately. Do you understand?”

Noctis could see what Cor was offering – support, comfort. Someone on the other end of the line. That wasn’t what Noctis wanted.

“Cor, you have to come. He’s going to die if you don’t send someone out here.”

“It’s impossible,” Cor said. “They watch us just as closely as we watch them. We barely got you three out there alive. You know that. We maintain the no-contact protocol for a reason.”

“Cor, please …”

“I’m sorry, Noct. It can’t happen.”

Noctis felt the burn of frustration behind his eyes. “If I ordered you, would you come?”

“Noct …”

“If I made it a royal decree, would you obey or ignore me? Am I really just a king in name only?”

Ignis clamped down on Noctis’ hand, but Noctis refused to look anywhere but the phone.

“Would you really do that, Noct? Would you risk your country’s future to save this one life?” Cor paused. “Do you think your father would be proud of that?”

“That’s what he did,” Noctis grit, shoving his chair back from the table and lurching to his feet. Just that fast, he was so furious he was shaking. “He sacrificed himself, a whole city, people, _everything_ , for me.”

“Not for you to live,” Cor replied evenly. “For you to do your job, to carry on under his mantle. He left Lucis in your hands.” There was a brief eternity of dead air. “If you ordered it, Your Majesty, I would come. I swore an oath long before you were born. I will always serve the King, no matter what kind of man he turns out to be.”

Noctis hunched over the table, over the phone, leaning down hard onto splayed palms. He wanted to open his mouth and scream – something, anything – but he couldn’t find any words.

He jabbed the ‘end call’ button instead. On Ignis’ flat cold touchscreen, it was unsatisfying.

Ignis cleared his throat. “It’s too late for such a step in any case,” he said, mostly steady. “In the time it would take to extract him, or to get a specialist and the appropriate equipment here – his condition will have run its course one way or another.”

Noctis clenched his jaw to keep his face still. The rest of him kept shaking anyway. Ignis was probably right – there was nothing he or anyone could do. It didn’t make him feel any better.

He abandoned Ignis at the kitchen table – and that was probably selfish, _useless_ , but Noctis did it anyway. He needed to cool down, or warm up, or something, so he went to his room and lay down under the covers.

After a few minutes, he heard Ignis’ voice faintly through the wall. He’d called Cor back to finish giving his report and talk to the doctors. To actually handle everything. That made Noctis feel lower than he already did.

He didn’t mean to sleep, but at some point he closed his eyes and when he opened them again the pale square of moonlight shining through his window had jumped across the grey room.

He heard wracking coughs from across the hall. He didn’t want to go back in there. He was tired of watching Prompto disintegrate in front of him. Gladio and Ignis would take care of him.

What if something happened while Noctis was gone?

The spike of panic and remembered horror that accompanied that thought got Noctis out of bed and across the hall. Ignis was in his post, the kitchen chair in front of the nightstand. Gladio sat next to Prompto on the bed, arranging the quilt back over him now that he’d quieted down. They each gave Noctis a small nod.

Prompto lay motionless with his eyes closed – but when Noctis came in, he cracked them open. He squinted at Noctis, blinked to clear his vision … and then his mouth stretched into a tired smile. “You’re back,” he said, and the way he sounded so _glad_ pulled on something important in Noctis’ chest. He couldn’t get over to him fast enough.

Noctis sat farther up the bed this time, right next to Gladio, as close to Prompto as he thought he could get without Ignis hissing at him.

Maybe an hour later, Prompto had the worst coughing fit yet. He hacked and gasped for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, struggling to drag in air past the sticky Scourge in his lungs. Gladio helped him sit up and lean forward. Ignis shifted himself slowly onto the edge of the bed next to them, his mouth a thin line. Noctis felt sick.

Prompto choked and heaved and spat into the towel. Gladio folded it over and wiped his mouth. Prompto dragged shallow, desperate breaths, clinging to Gladio’s arm in a feeble plea. Then he started coughing again.

“That’s it,” Gladio rumbled, gripping him so tight his fingers made white dips in Prompto’s whiter skin. “Just get that shit out. Keep going.”

Prompto did. He coughed and coughed, until he finally coughed himself out, slack and heavy under Gladio's support. A tear slid down his face. “I … I …”

“You’re all right,” Gladio said, stroking his head. Noctis wished he could do the same. Wished he could do anything other than sit here.

A couple more tears slipped out of Prompto’s eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind.

“What?” Noctis asked.

Prompto shook his head.

“Please. We want you to tell us what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Prompto whispered. “Keep going. You keep telling me to, and I _want_ to, but I … can’t do any better than this, and it’s not, it’s not enough.”

“It’s okay,” Noctis said instantly, at the same moment Gladio gripped Prompto's arm fiercely and Ignis leaned toward him with a sharp breath. “It’s okay if you can’t. It’s not an order, I promise. We just want you here – I want you here. But if you can’t, it’s not your fault.”

“I’m trying,” Prompto said. “I promise, I’m trying.”

“You’re doing more than trying,” Gladio said. “You’re killing it. Not the other way around. You’re so fucking close, Prompto, I can feel it.”

“It’s okay to be tired,” Noctis said. “It really is.”

“Just hold onto us for as long as you can,” Ignis said, taking his hand. “Do that for us, if you will.”

“Okay,” Prompto said. “Okay.” Noct saw his hand grip Ignis back as he slumped against Gladio (and at least he had that, at least he had gentle hands and human warmth instead of torture and unfeeling steel). Prompto was quiet and still for a long time. Long enough that Noctis thought he’d gone to sleep. Until he murmured, “Thank you.”

Ignis and Gladio looked at each other with the same disbelief Noctis felt.

“Thank you,” Prompto said again, putting a little more force behind it. Like maybe they hadn’t heard him, and he really wanted them to. Like him _thanking them_ for anything would be a worthwhile thing to waste his strength on.

“Don’t thank us,” Noctis said. Not when we’re going to let you die, he didn’t say.

Prompto opened his eyes and found Noctis with them. They weren’t really red anymore. They were kind of purple. Really beautiful. Like gemstones, cut perfectly and lit by a dozen lights. “You saved me,” he explained.

They hadn’t. They hadn’t done anything. They’d given him two more days of mostly confusion and panic and suffering, half a bar of chocolate, and a stupid blanket he couldn’t even touch. And a couple of hugs.

But Noctis wasn’t going to say that to him. What was the point in telling him he should be angry and upset? That none of this was fair?

He’d really, really liked the hugs.

Noctis scootched right into Prompto’s and Gladio’s space, ignored Gladio’s slow-gathering confusion and Ignis’ too-late reach, and slipped his arm around Prompto’s shoulders.

“Noct!” Gladio exclaimed through gritted teeth. Ignis’ face was sheet white.

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t know that!”

Prompto tried half-heartedly to pull away. “No,” he whimpered.

“It’s fine,” Noctis tried to tell him. He wasn’t trying to give Prompto something else to worry about. “You’ve both touched him, and you’re fine,” he said to Ignis and Gladio. “And if something bad actually happened to both of you …” Noctis tried to shove down the hollow feeling in his chest. “You think I’d want to be the only one standing?”

“That’s not how this works,” Gladio growled. “That’s not a call you get to make.”

“Too bad,” Noctis said. “And too late.”

Gladio fumed obnoxiously, but he didn’t argue any more, so Noctis just settled in and ignored him. Ignis looked shell-shocked, and Noctis felt bad, belatedly, for scaring him – but he would be fine, and so would Noctis. Prompto seemed a little anxious too, so Noctis combed his hair with his hands like he’d been wanting to do all day (it was limp and sweaty, but Noctis didn’t care), and Prompto’s eyes fell shut from the sensation. Noctis guided his head to rest on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck. “Is this okay? I mean, is it better or worse?”

He sank into Noctis, boneless and fever-warm. “Better.”

“Is there anything else you want?”

He shook his head, a faint movement against Noctis’ neck. His hand crept across to Noctis’ thigh and grabbed a fold of his pants. Weakly.

“How about this?” Noctis picked that hand up gently – blackness was even pushing up through the beds of his fingernails – and carefully interlaced their fingers.

Prompto sighed softly. He dragged his ruined hand to curl around their joined ones, cradling Noctis’ hand in his lap. “It’s good,” he murmured.

“Good,” Noctis said.

Prompto didn’t say anything else. Not then, and not later.

Gladio grumbled, but he helped Noctis adjust so he could sit right up against Prompto for a while. Ignis sat dead-silent. When he got up, he started doing his rounds like he was on autopilot – refilling Prompto’s water glass, tidying the nightstand, replacing the Scourge-smeared towel in Gladio’s hand with a clean one, adjusting the blankets so they were tucked around Prompto and Gladio and now Noctis – but a clumsy tremor had crept into his hands.

Noctis and Gladio had both gotten some sleep, but Noctis was pretty sure Ignis hadn’t rested since Prompto first stumbled into the clearing yesterday morning.

“Maybe you should take the other chair,” Noctis said, as Ignis made to settle himself back into the wooden chair beside the bed.

As one, the three of them looked at the armchair in the corner of the room. It was a little low and frilly and a lot overstuffed. It would put Ignis out like a light.

Ignis tsked in frustration, raking one hand through his hair. “I’m perfectly capable of performing my duties without falling to pieces,” he snapped, in a thin, strained voice that contradicted him.

Oh. “That’s not what I meant,” Noctis mumbled. He hadn’t noticed. Ignis was on the edge of having a panic attack (because of Noctis, they were all because of Noctis), and he hadn’t even noticed. “I just meant you haven’t slept, and you can. You should.” It was more important than he’d realized.

“I’m needed,” Ignis said, but it was almost a question. Like he was saying, aren’t I?

“You’ve told us everything we need to know to take care of him,” Noctis said.

“Ignis,” Gladio said, “you’ll be right here.”

Ignis looked down at Noctis. Noctis didn’t let himself look away. Ignis didn’t deserve that. Eventually his attention slid to Prompto’s unconscious face. He combed his blond hair off his forehead. “Make sure to keep him hydrated, as best you can. With his fever …”

“We will,” Gladio said.

“Very well. You must wake me if it seems …”

“Yeah,” Noctis said. “We will. So rest while you can.”

Ignis moved over into the armchair. He was out cold within fifteen minutes.

Prompto’s strength was fading, but so was the Scourge. His fever started dropping and he stopped oozing. Noctis didn’t know if that was because the Scourge was all out of him or because his body couldn’t fight it off anymore, but the black lines that ran underneath his skin were gone. That had to be a good sign.

Eventually Gladio made them rearrange. Prompto hadn’t coughed in a while, so Gladio lay him back in his arms. He let Noctis sit facing him so he could hold Prompto’s hand without even frowning about it. Every so often he squeezed a little energy gel onto Prompto’s tongue, so it could melt and run down his throat, in case that extra push might make a difference.

He looked small compared to Gladio, ashy and half-dead next to Gladio’s late summer tan. Gladio rubbed Prompto’s chest gently sometimes and took his pulse about every eleven seconds. Noctis didn’t want to know if it was bad or not, so he didn’t ask.

“You can go catch some z’s yourself,” Gladio said to him at some point. “Iggy’ll be up soon enough, and you didn’t sleep much earlier. Not as much as you like, anyway. Princess of Naps.”

“I’m not going to leave you alone with him,” Noctis said.

Gladio’s attempt at a good mood collapsed like a black hole. “Six, Noct, do you really still think I’m gonna hurt him? Look at him, he’s …”

“No,” Noctis said. “I know you’re not. I meant, I’m not going to leave you alone in case he.” He wouldn’t say it. But he remembered Cor’s offer from before, and he was trying to make it to Gladio.

“Oh.” Gladio deflated. He kind of hunched over Prompto. He looked tired all of a sudden. “Look. He’s doing okay. As well as we could hope. Even if he wasn’t, you’ve been through a lot.”

How dumb could Gladio be? “So have you,” Noctis said. He inched his hand out until his fingers touched Gladio’s, which lay over Prompto’s heart.

Gladio seized Noctis’ hand and squeezed, hard. He wouldn’t look at him, and he didn’t say anything, but Noctis kind of knew what he meant.

Ignis got up just after the sun rose and made them manhandle Prompto into the bath to cool him all the way down and clean him off. He was completely unresponsive, but Gladio said that didn’t mean anything. He could just be resting deeply, healing.

Somehow Ignis changed the sheets and performed an emergency intervention on the mattress while they were in there. They put Prompto in clean pajamas and lay him down in the bed and waited. Noctis sat on top of the quilt beside him and watched him breathe, soft and easy, a dangerous relief bubbling up in heart until it spilled over.

\---------

Prompto was warm. Something fluffy and soft was wrapped all around him. He was lying down, and the surface was comfortable. He felt nice.

Maybe he was dead. If so, he shouldn’t have worked so hard to avoid getting here.

“MT-05953234, awake and awaiting orders.” His voice came out quiet and thin, but it didn’t matter because there was no one around to respond anyway. He could hear movement, low voices, but they were in a different place.

He opened his eyes to a room bright with sunlight. He was all by himself in the room with the bed. The soft white blanket – _his_ blanket – had been put over him. There was a glass on the nightstand, full of water. Prompto wanted to drink it.

He sat up and got his arms free. His body was weak and clumsy, but it wasn’t bad. Not compared to everything that came before. His chest and his head were clear. He felt light and floaty and free.

He reached for the water. Was it for him? It was a different glass than the one they gave him – how long ago, Prompto didn’t know – but they’d kept giving him more. Kept telling him to drink however much he wanted.

He drank it all.

The next step was to get up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and when he slowly stood up, they held his weight. Good. He couldn’t stand forever, but he was pretty sure he could walk a short distance.

He didn’t want to leave the white blanket behind. He wanted to keep feeling it around him. On an impulse – he’d never considered following one before – he decided to take it with him. He pulled it up over his shoulders and gathered it higher so it wouldn’t drag on the ground.

The journey down the hall took a lot longer than he expected, and he had to keep one hand on the wall for help. But when he came around the corner and they broke into three delighted smiles, he knew it was worth it.

Ignis was at the stove, but he dropped the tool he was holding instantly and hurried to meet Prompto where he stood. “Come now, you should have called us, you look like you’re barely on your feet.”

Gladio was leaning his elbows on the back of Noct’s chair, giving Prompto maybe the wildest grin he’d ever seen. He came to help Ignis settle him at the table, in the same seat he’d sat in before. “Welcome back to the land of the living. Or maybe it should just be ‘welcome’.”

Noct leaned toward him, and his eyes were so bright Prompto almost couldn’t look at them. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He stretched his hand across the table toward Prompto.

Prompto let himself take it.

Ignis got busy over by the counter, and before long he put a bowl of clear yellowy liquid in front of Prompto. “Broth,” Ignis explained. “And …” He set two squares of chocolate on the table beside it. “For when you’ve had your fill.”

“Wow.” Prompto picked up the spoon, then looked up at Ignis for confirmation.

“You’re safe to proceed,” Ignis said wryly. “I diluted it with an ice cube so you don’t have to wait. We all learned our lesson last time.”

Prompto put the spoon in his mouth. The liquid was salty and really good. He went back in for more. A little slow, so he wouldn’t be sick, but only a little. He felt like he needed it. Like he was ready for it.

“Look,” Gladio began as he sank into the chair on Prompto’s left. “You’re part of the team now, a permanent addition, so don’t _worry_.”

That did make Prompto worry a little, but Noct just sighed and rolled his eyes, and that probably meant it wasn’t anything too bad.

“You were exhausted and half out of your mind before – for good reason – and I have to make sure you understand that there are some ground rules, because of who we are.” He looked hard at Prompto. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Um,” Prompto said. “I mean, obviously I remember the orders you gave me. Or, the ground rules,” he quickly amended, when Gladio frowned. “I’m not allowed to hurt anyone or leave or compromise this location. But … I don’t know what you mean by ‘who you are’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noct this whole chapter, watching Gladio cradle Prompto in his arms: Gods I wish that were me.


	4. Dog Days Are Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to use a Florence + The Machine song at some point. I'm really going to have to do like a director's commentary on the chapter titles. But ... maybe not until the plot is all on the table.
> 
> This chapter is somehow even longer than the previous two, which is a trend I personally find a little alarming when I consider what I have outlined for the rest of the fic. But it only took me two months to update this time, so maybe there's hope for all of us yet.
> 
> Chapter warnings: None! Except for the usual MTs-are-troubling stuff. This is the fluff we've all been waiting for.

Noctis just sat there, pulse ringing in his ears. Gladio and Ignis were asking Prompto some pointed-yet-vague questions, trying to figure out what exactly he thought the three of them were doing living in the middle of the woods with no contact with anyone and strange magic and one person whose life they all treated as implicitly more valuable than everyone else’s. (He didn’t think anything about it, was the answer. Prompto didn’t know how normal people lived, so nothing about any of it struck him as out of the ordinary.)

Noctis was a little distracted. Because Prompto didn’t know who Noctis was.

Noctis had never in his entire life had a conversation with someone who wasn’t hyperaware he was royalty. A prince who would one day be a king. Even with Gladio and Ignis, who were essentially his family, it was baked into the foundation of their relationship with him. Some people were cooler about it than others, sure, but underneath it all everyone knew. How could they not? You’d have to be living under a rock to not know who the Prince of Lucis was.

Or locked up in an MT factory.

So Noctis pretended to listen to the flimsy cover story Ignis and Gladio were inventing (which Prompto was swallowing the same way he swallowed everything they handed him, unquestioningly), and felt a strange delight settle into the space under his ribs.

Noctis saw a silent movement out of the corner of his eye, and Prompto must’ve seen it too, because they turned in unison. It was the cat coming around the corner. She’d finally come out from her hiding place under Noctis’ bed.

Prompto’s eyes were like saucers. “What is _that_?”

“She’s Noct’s cat,” Gladio said.

“She’s the household’s cat,” Ignis said. “Her name is Chocobo.”

“It’s kind of a dumb name,” Gladio said. “She’s not even yellow.”

“There are black chocobos,” Noctis said, getting up from the table. This was an argument they’d had a million times already. He didn’t know why Gladio bothered. The cat was already named.

“Yeah, they exist, but that’s not really what the word ‘chocobo’ brings to mind.”

“They’re rare and precious,” Noctis said. “Just like Chocobo here.” He grabbed the cat off the floor, tipping his chin back in exaggerated defiance.

Prompto was still staring at the cat. “But what … _is_ that?”

“Uh.” Noctis didn’t know where to start. “It’s a pet.”

Ignis swooped in and saved him. “People sometimes keep animals as members of their household,” he explained, “for companionship and entertainment. Cats are common pets, as are dogs.”

“Oh,” Prompto said, and a shadowy blankness crossed his face.

“What?” Noctis asked.

Prompto gave a small shake of his head.

“You can tell us.”

“Dogs over twenty-five pounds are automatically designated targets,” he told them. “When we’re deployed on missions to populated areas, we eliminate them on sight so they can’t become enemy combatants.”

Oh. Noctis kind of wished he hadn’t asked.

“It’s a good thing there aren’t any dogs here, then,” Gladio said slowly.

Prompto’s brow crinkled. “No. I’m here now. I don’t have designated targets anymore.”

“Good,” Gladio said.

“That’s enough of that,” Ignis said.

Noctis couldn’t agree more. “Yeah, we were introducing you to Chocobo.” She was a nice cat, to Noctis anyway, but she acted bossy sometimes – and currently she was trying to wiggle around so he would hold her differently and she could sleep.

“Yeah,” Prompto said, luminous purple eyes travelling easily back to the cat. “She’s small.”

“She’s still young,” Noctis said. “Do you want to hold her?”

Prompto said, “Uh …” at the same time as Ignis said, “Perhaps it would be best to allow Prompto and Chocobo a few minutes to get to know one another.”

“Yeah, okay.” Noctis gave in, tucking Chocobo into the crook of his elbow so she’d quiet down. “You need to finish your soup anyway.”

“Oh, right!” Prompto spun back around in his chair and slurping some broth off his spoon as fast as he could get ahold of it. Noctis was a little surprised he was so easily distracted from his food, considering how unforgiving his life as an MT had to have been. Of course, he probably wasn’t used to getting to choose what to pay attention to.

Noctis watched him for a minute, then decided it was weird to be staring at Prompto while he ate – so he turned and carried Chocobo across the main room to the living area. He sat down on the knotted rug right in front of the sofa, because Prompto would need something to lean against, and pet Chocobo’s fur. To keep her happy while they waited, and because it was one of the softest things he knew.

When Prompto had finished the whole bowl, he looked around the room – and when he spotted Noctis he went to get to his feet. Gladio helped him stand and walk the length of the room to join him. Prompto settled in right at Noctis’ side, so their shoulders were touching.

Noctis nudged Chocobo, who’d gotten a little drowsy, to get her attention. “She might stay and say hi, or she might run away. Cats are shy, so either way you shouldn’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Prompto said. He looked a little nervous.

Noctis leaned a little closer to Prompto, for reassurance. “You’ll like her, I promise.” Chocobo padded across Noctis’ lap toward Prompto, and Prompto held out a quaking hand. Chocobo, ignorant of Prompto’s uncertainty, bumped her head against Prompto’s palm. Prompto gasped.

“She’ll like it if you scratch under her chin,” Noctis said.

Prompto did so. In response, Chocobo rubbed the side of her face against Prompto’s hand. “Oh,” Prompto said reverently. “It’s so _soft_.”

“Yeah,” Noctis said.

Prompto held his other hand out in the middle of the air, like he didn’t know what to do with it, so Noctis took it carefully – it was the hurt one, he remembered, the one that didn’t work right – and guided it to lie along the cat’s side.

“Oh, wow,” Prompto said again, petting the length of her once, and then again.

Chocobo seemed into it, so Noctis nudged her over into Prompto’s lap.

Prompto kind of looked like he was about to cry. In a good way.

Across the room, Gladio was looking serious and muttering something to Ignis, and Ignis was nodding and frowning in thought. Whatever they were talking about, Noctis probably needed to intervene.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Noctis said to Prompto.

“Okay.” Prompto was too enraptured by the cat to care why Noctis was leaving – which was a really good thing, on several levels.

Noctis got up and went over to the kitchen. Ignis and Gladio stopped talking and watched him as he came. “Is there a problem?” he asked quietly, when he was close enough.

“Maybe not,” Gladio answered, just as low. “I’m wondering what he might do if Chocobo scratched him, or startled him.”

“Have you been here for the last three days?” Noctis said. “He’s wouldn’t _do_ anything.”

“I would face down a stampede of rampaging annaks to make him happy, okay? I get it, believe me. But he’s coming down from a relentless, hyper-controlled environment. We don’t know what he’s really like yet. _He_ doesn’t even know what he’s really like. He hasn’t had a chance to be like anything. And sad as it is, getting mistreated that badly has a tendency to really fuck someone up.”

“Of course he’s fucked up,” Noctis hissed back. “He doesn’t know what oatmeal is and his favorite memory is that tile and he likes the blanket because it feels like a hug. That’s why we’re helping him.”

“We are helping him. But we have to be smart about it. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re not out here on vacation.”

“I haven’t _forgotten_ ,” Noctis said, balling his hands into fists. He could feel the terrible raw heat rising in him like it had those first couple of days after …

“That’s enough,” Ignis said. “We’re all aware of the backdrop here. Let’s focus on Prompto.”

Noctis took a deep breath, and by the time he was done the worst of it was back beneath the rock he was keeping it under. “We’re going to help him figure out how to be _him_. He deserves that.”

“Deserve’s got nothing to do with it. He’s a child soldier, Noct – hell, that’s almost being generous, he was raised to be the clockwork center of a machine. You heard him just now, about the dogs. He’s acclimatized to violence, conditioned to do disturbing things without hesitation, pretty much guaranteed to have some serious PTSD ...”

“Gladiolus,” Ignis said exasperatedly. “Look at him.”

Chocobo lounged in Prompto’s lap, purring loudly under his hands. Prompto was stroking her gently and carefully and politely even though it was obvious he was quietly losing his mind.

Noctis rounded on Gladio, burning with vindication.

Gladio sighed. “Look …”

Ignis silenced him with a peck on the lips. “Your diligence is much appreciated, Gladio. But frankly, while we must be prepared for any eventuality, I tend to believe Prompto would go to great pains to avoid harming us. I’m more worried about the opposite, if we don’t handle him with the utmost care.”

Prompto was leaning down over Chocobo while he pet her. He had this look on his face. One Noctis liked.

"Don't move," Noctis called out, reaching for his phone.

The look melted, and Prompto froze. His eyes went wide and scared, and he tried to look up at what Noctis was doing without moving his head.

"It's okay," Noctis said quickly. "I just want to take your picture with the cat."

Prompto swallowed. “Um.”

“A picture? Like with my phone camera. Do you not, have you never …”

“I know surveillance cameras,” Prompto said unsteadily.

During this exchange the cat had gotten irritated she was no longer being loved. She batted at Prompto’s hand. Prompto stayed frozen, shoulders tense.

“You can move if you want to,” Noctis said. “That wasn’t, I didn’t mean …”

Prompto lifted his head, ever so slightly. He stared at the phone in Noctis’ hand.

“It won’t hurt you. It won’t do anything at all. It just … takes a picture,” Noctis said weakly.

“Okay. That’s fine. Do it if you want.” Tension radiated off Prompto’s body.

“It doesn’t really seem fine,” Noctis said, lowering the phone. “Can I come sit next to you again? Is that still okay?”

Prompto blinked. “Yeah.”

“Great.” Noct gingerly got back down on the floor beside Prompto. When their shoulders touched, Prompto leaned into him – even though he’d been freaked out by him five seconds earlier. That was kind of messed up.

“This is a phone,” Noctis began. “It has all these apps that do different things. A lot of them don’t work right now because we can’t connect to the internet, but that’s for a different lesson.” He pulled up the camera app. “It also has a camera, that you can use to take videos – like a surveillance camera, I guess – or pictures.”

Prompto was watching the screen intently. Noctis pointed the phone at Ignis and Gladio – who both smiled – and took a photo. He pulled up the camera roll to show it to Prompto. “See? It captures what it sees so you can look at it later.”

Prompto looked from the screen to Ignis and Gladio to Noctis. “Just, whenever you want?”

“Yeah.” Noctis put it back in camera mode. “Try taking one of me.”

Prompto took the phone gingerly, gripping it in his good hand and using his bad one as a support. He aimed it around for a second experimentally before pointing it at Noctis.

“If you give your subject warning, they can smile,” Ignis advised.

“And keep their damn eyes open,” Gladio added. “Unless it’s Ignis, in which case it’s fifty-fifty no matter what you do.”

Noctis smirked at that, and he heard the shutter sound.

Prompto looked at him seriously over the top of the phone. “How do I see it?”

Noctis leaned forward. “Tap right here.”

A picture of him filled the screen – a very different him than he was used to seeing in the mirror. He was smiling a smile that reached his eyes.

“Great shot,” Gladio said, ambling over to look.

Prompto cradled the phone in both hands, staring down at the photo like he was shell-shocked.

“Do you want to take more?” Noctis asked. “Or, can I take some of you?”

“Can we do … both?”

“Yeah, sure. For now you can … or, uh, actually. Specs, can he use your phone?”

“Iggy needs his phone,” Gladio said. And sure, Ignis was the one who always called Cor, but … “He can use mine,” Gladio finished. He fished his own phone out of his pocket and leaned down to set Prompto up with the camera app.

They both started snapping away. Somewhere around Prompto’s fifteenth picture of the cat a huge smile found its way onto his face, and Noctis wondered if he was literally having more fun than he’d ever had in his life. The thought was both dark and bright.

Five minutes later Prompto discovered selfie mode. He seemed surprised at the sight of himself, but only for a second. After that, Noctis was too busy squeezing his face in next to Prompto’s and mugging at the camera to feel anything but light.

\---------

Gladio watched Prompto take about a million pictures in the space of twenty minutes, wilt back against the couch, slump against Noct’s shoulder, and drop off to sleep. None of that was too surprising. He had a lot to recover from.

Gladio also watched the earnest look on Noct's face, and the way Noct gently lifted Gladio’s phone from Prompto’s lap and adjusted their position a little so Prompto would be more comfortable. The way he clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

That wasn’t too surprising either. Maybe not ideal, though. Maybe the beginning of a problem.

A problem he wasn’t going to worry about yet. Not until it actually started to become one.

Gladio went over to retrieve his phone from Noct. He skimmed through the gallery. “He chewed through a gig of space.”

“Guess we’ll have to get out some SD cards,” Noct said.

Gladio looked at Noct. Those big baby blues were serious. Noct had every intention of indulging the kid. Spoiling him rotten. He looked at Prompto. The sharp lines of his cheeks and his collarbones. The bandages circling his entire left forearm. Gladio couldn’t fault him.

“Guess so,” Gladio said. He had a bunch of one-terabyte cards stockpiled – just in case – and if those somehow ran low he could always ask Cor for more in the next supply drop. It’s not like they would take up a bunch of space or add weight to the pack.

Gladio put his phone back in his pocket and went outside into the bright afternoon. Regardless of Gladio's abstract concern, right now it meant Noct would take care of Prompto. Gladio had his own work to do.

\---------

Noctis sat there for almost forty-five minutes before Prompto stirred against him. “MT-05953234, awake and awaiting orders,” he murmured.

They’d have to work on getting him to stop that at some point – but as long as he wasn’t freaking out every time he woke up, it could wait.

“No orders,” Noctis said, watching Prompto’s eyelashes flutter. He could see the exact moment Prompto realized where he was.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” he said, sitting up a little. The cat was still curled up in Prompto’s lap, which he noticed with a smile, running his fingers gently through her fur.

“I didn’t mind,” Noctis said. It was the truth.

Prompto looked around. They were alone in the main room. “What now? What are your scheduled operations here? You’ll want me to help. Or, do you have something else in mind for me?”

Noctis typically sat around and sulked – he knew he was sulking, there just weren’t any good alternatives – and sometimes trained when Gladio was annoying enough.  Noctis didn’t want to say that to Prompto, though. “We don’t really have ‘operations’. I mean, we take care of ourselves and the house – cook and clean and stuff. But you’re not … we’re not going to make you _work_ for us.” Not now, when he was still recovering. Maybe not ever – the thought of it make Noctis feel sick.

“I’ll have a role, though, won’t I?” Prompto said. “When an MT’s role becomes obsolete, sometimes they assign us a new role and put us through reconditioning.” He didn’t continue. The implication was that sometimes they did something else, but whatever that was, he didn’t volunteer it. “I just thought …” He paused. “You wouldn’t have taken care of me if you weren’t going to recondition me. You’ve already committed a lot of resources.”

“We’re not going to _recondition_ you,” Noctis said, followed quickly by, “That’s not what I meant,” when Prompto looked a little concerned. “I didn’t, I just … I guess we are reconditioning you, into a regular person.”

“Oh. What do they do?”

“A lot of things. It’s hard,” Noctis admitted suddenly. “I’m not very good at it, parts of it, and I’ve had my whole life to practice.”

“If you think it’s hard after all this time, I don’t know how good I’ll be,” Prompto said. Then, finally, “MTs who can’t be efficiently reconditioned are terminated.”

“You’re not an MT anymore, and you’re not going to be terminated,” Noctis said firmly. He’d keep saying it as long as Prompto needed to keep hearing it. “You’re kind of behind, but that’s okay. It’s not a test you have to keep up with, and it’s not an order. We’ll help you with everything.” And then Noctis took Prompto’s hand – small and unblemished and a little limp from his injury – and laced their fingers together. “Everything will be okay. Okay?”

Prompto’s eyes were glued to where their hands were joined. “Okay,” he said.

“Good. First of all, Ignis says you should have more soup whenever you want it. Also water. Whenever you think you want some, just tell me and I’ll get it for you.”

“Oh, um. Okay.”

“Specs also says you should go out in the sun. A little bit every day, so your skin can get used to it. And because it’s good for you.”

“Specs is Ignis,” Prompto said, like it was a guess and he wanted confirmation.

“Yeah, Specs is a nickname I call him sometimes.”

“So Ignis and Gladio both have nicknames, and so do you, because your real name is Noctis.”

“Yeah,” Noctis said. He watched Prompto's face for even a flicker of recognition. There wasn't one.

"Neat," Prompto said.

Very neat. "Don’t worry, we’ll come up with a nickname for you, if you want one. Once you’ve got your real name picked out.”

“Okay,” Prompto said quietly.

“Ignis and Gladio are both outside. If it's all right with you, we can join them."

"Sure." Prompto grabbed onto the couch and tried to haul himself clumsily to his feet.

"Hey, wait." Noctis scrambled to help lift him up. "You don't have to rush. It's okay to let me help you. You still have permission, like Gladio said."

"Oh. Okay. I know. But I'm not sick anymore, and I can do it myself, really, and I don't want to be too much of a drain. On, on resources, or ..."

"Prompto," Noctis said. "I know you _could_ do it yourself, if your life depended on it. Your life did depend on it, when you were with them. But it's not like that anymore. We want to help hold you up if you need it."

Prompto grabbed on to Noctis' shoulder to steady himself. That gave Noctis the perfect opening to slip an arm behind Prompto's back – and the way Prompto dumped his weight into Noctis at the first available opportunity told Noctis his support was very necessary.

"I don't know how to tell," Prompto said. "If I need it or not."

"You'll learn. For now let's just assume you could use it. To be safe."

"Okay."

Prompto walked like a hospital patient, but with Noctis at his side they made it to the door. Prompto was in pajamas and bare feet. Noctis guided him out into the grass anyway.

Ignis was hanging laundry out to dry on the line. Contrary to Noctis' guess, he had not burned the pajamas or the sheets. Apparently in the middle of the woods they couldn't throw out perfectly good linens just because they got a little Scourgey.

"Hello, Prompto," he called, which brought a bright smile to Prompto's face.

"Hello, Ignis."

"Where'd Gladio go?" Noctis asked.

"He's out back." Ignis hesitated. "Burying the armor."

Noctis felt a chill go down his spine. Prompto's smile collapsed, but Noctis squeezed his waist and his features smoothed.

"Good riddance," Ignis said evenly, as if the armor that almost killed Prompto was just a mild inconvenience. "I hope you enjoyed your rest."

Prompto and Noctis were too preocupied to answer him. They'd taken the dozen tottering steps necessary to get beyond the shadow cast by the cottage and into the golden afternoon sun. Its heat washed over Noctis, and he watched closely as Prompto's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Oh," he said.

"Oh is good, right?" Noctis asked. "I can't always tell."

"I can _feel_ the light," Prompto said. "It's _warm_."

"Yeah, the sun is like that. It can get hot after a while, uncomfortable. But it can also feel really good."

"It’s also important for your health and wellbeing, though it will burn your skin after too much exposure," Ignis said across the clearing. "Which is another reason you need to take it in small doses each day. To increase your resistance."

"Yeah, I bet you'd be red as a lobster in ten minutes if you stood outside at noon right now," Noctis said. It was a comical image and at the same time kind of scary, to realize Prompto was so vulnerable. "Don't worry about it, though. We have sunscreen you could use if we had to go out anywhere."

Noctis didn't know if Prompto had been taking in what they'd been saying. "I've never felt it before," he said. "I've seen it, the brightness, but they only sent us outside when we were in the armor. I've never felt it."

"I'm sorry," Noctis said, even though it was a useless thing to say.

"Why are you sorry?" Prompto said. "It's amazing. Just think ... just think how many amazing things there must be. Dozens, probably. I wonder how long it would take to find them all out." Then he smiled, so widely his eyes squeezed shut – and that smile, plus the golden sunlight in his golden hair, was the most beautiful thing Noctis had ever seen.

They sank to their knees together in the grass. Prompto leaned on him, let himself be circled in Noctis’ arms as he felt the sunlight on his skin for the first time, and Noctis felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun or Prompto’s body heat spreading through his belly and his chest and his brain.

That was the first moment Noctis realized he might be in trouble.

"It would take forever," he answered anyway, because it was too late to do anything about it. "There are thousands of amazing things, millions, so many you could never count them all. But I'll help you make a dent if you want."

Prompto smiled wider at that, and Noctis was lost.

\---------

For a few minutes Prompto got to kneel there in the prickly grass, with the warmth of Noct’s arms and the wonderful yellow light pouring over him. He wanted to stay there forever – though eventually the sun would go down, and Ignis had said something about burning …

Prompto didn’t have time to worry about that, because before long, Ignis was shooing him and Noct inside with instructions to find Prompto some clothes.

“He’s about your size, Noct,” Ignis said. “Why don’t you let him try on a few things you’d be willing to part with.”

That didn’t sound like it would be too hard – but maybe ‘a few’ meant something different to Noct and the others than it did to Prompto, because pretty soon about two thirds of the clothes in Noct’s dresser were laid out all over his bed.

When Prompto wasn't in his armor he'd only ever worn training clothes, thin black tops and bottoms designed to wick away sweat. These clothes had lots of different shapes and colors, and he didn't know where to start. He looked to Noct for guidance.

Noct was already looking at him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why aren't you afraid?"

Prompto didn't know what that meant. Was he doing something wrong?

"Not that you should be," Noct said quickly, maybe because Prompto had kind of tensed up. "I just mean, you don't know us. _I_ know we're not going to hurt you, but you ... how do you ... look, never mind, let's just do the clothes."

“I can answer,” Prompto said. He thought about Noct's kind face, and his gentle voice, and the way he and Ignis and Gladio were so careful with Prompto. More careful than anyone had ever been before. So careful it made Prompto’s chest ache. "I guess I figure ... you’re being so nice. If you wanted to hurt me, you just would. If you wanted me to do something, you'd just tell me to do it."

That made Noct look at the floor for a second. "All right,” he said. “For the record, usually you shouldn't trust people right away. Some people will try to trick you into thinking they're nice so they can hurt you later. But I promise we’re not like that. You’re safe with us." Noctis frowned. "Which is also what I'd say if you wouldn’t be, but ..."

Prompto laughed. "It's okay. I trust you. It's already settled."

Noct smiled, then started picking through the heap of pants on the bed.

Prompto thought maybe he was supposed to be looking at the pants, but he mostly looked at Noct instead. His hands were slow but deft, and his back was a little crooked when he hunched over, and there was a faint scrunch to his forehead because he was focused on what he was doing. And what he was doing was choosing things for Prompto.

Being the focus of Noct's attention made it kind of hard to breathe, but in a way where Prompto would be happy to survive on less air if that was what it took to have it.

The pants were pretty easy - a lot of Noct's things were baggy, but that felt weird to him, so in the end Noct gave him his only two pairs of long skinny pants. One was black, and the other was spotted.

"But what if you want to wear this kind?" Prompto said.

"I won't," Noct said, making a face. "But if I did for some reason, I’d ask you to borrow a pair and you could say yes or no. They're yours now, all right?"

"All right," Prompto agreed. He figured Noct could change his mind if he wanted to, but he still took the second pair – the one he wasn't currently wearing – and put it over on the chair in the corner. The beginning of his own pile of his very own clothes.

The shirts were a little harder. Noct helped him get his pajama top off – Prompto would need to practice using buttons – and then Noct gestured to the pile of clothes and told him to ‘go crazy’. Prompto didn’t know where to start. There were a lot of different kinds, in fabrics he’d never felt before. He took one with short sleeves and no buttons or fasteners and pulled it over his head. It was black with a pattern in a different black. It was fine. It was a lot like the old training clothes.

Prompto didn’t know if that was good or not. He took the shirt off.

“I can find something with long sleeves. If you want.” Noct was staring at his arms. At the line of metals ports fused into him.

“That’s fine,” Prompto said. “If you don’t want to look at them, I can cover them up.”

Noct jumped. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t … I mean, they’re … why would it matter what I want?”

“They’re your clothes. It’s your house.”

“But that’s … Prompto, you’re your own person. I don’t get to dress you how I want. You pick what you want to wear, based on what you like and what’s practical.”

“But I don’t like anything. I can just wear what you like.”

“No way. You have to figure out what you like. For yourself.”

Prompto looked at the clothes on the bed without seeing them. “I’ll try something with long sleeves.”

“I don’t care about the studs, okay, I don’t.” Noct seemed agitated, though, so Prompto wasn’t sure if he believed him. “Why would I?”

“I dunno. I told you some of the people call us Empties. They don’t like us, I think. They think we're gross. When we were getting the ports installed there was one who would always fiddle with them when no one else was looking, to make us twitch. A bunch of us got infections, one or two got so bad they got terminated.”

Noct was looking more upset, so Prompto got back to the point. “So I’ll cover them up and make myself look more like a regular person if you want. I really don’t mind.”

“You are a regular person,” Noct argued. ~~~~

“They grow us in batches of a hundred in a lab. I don’t think that’s regular.”

“You’re still a human being!” Somehow Prompto was making things worse instead of better, because Noct’s voice was getting tighter and his face was starting to flush.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Prompto took his hand, lacing their fingers. “We fit together like this, so whatever I am, it must be all right.”

For a second Prompto thought Noct was going to cry. Then he pulled Prompto gently into a hug, and Prompto gladly buried himself against Noct’s warmth. He put his arms around Noct’s waist, so he could hold him closer, and it felt good. It felt just right. Noct’s pulse was steady under Prompto’s nose where it pressed into the crook of his neck.

Noct didn’t let go for a very long time, and Prompto savored every second of it.

When Noct did finally release him, he kind of wiped at his face, but he also kind of laughed, so Prompto laughed too. Then Prompto tried on more of the shirts, all different kinds, and Noct said he liked every one of them. Prompto eventually picked a couple with no sleeves at all. “I like being able to move without anything around my shoulders,” he decided, “and also maybe I’ll feel more of the sun? I like the sun.”

He slipped his favorite, the one covered in white lines, over his head. Then he turned to Noct and flexed experimentally. One final test.

Noct didn’t seem bothered at all.

\---------

Just as Ignis had brought the broth on the stove back up to a simmer, Noctis and Prompto emerged from the bedrooms. Noctis deposited Prompto – who was now dressed in street clothes and looked startlingly normal – on the sofa before disappearing back down the hall.

“I see you were successful, then,” Ignis said to Prompto. “Did you have any trouble finding items you liked? Unfortunately, our supply of clothing in your size is limited to whatever Noctis happens to have in his wardrobe.” To whatever Noctis happened to have in his luggage when they left Insomia, more like, but Ignis wasn’t going to call attention to that. Even if Prompto seemed to be somehow, miraculously unaware of the solution to the puzzle they presented.

“Not at all. Noct has so many shirts! But I picked three I really liked, and two pants, and he gave me lots of socks …”

“We need to ask Cor for some things on the next supply run,” Noct said, coming into the room with an armload of sneakers and boots. “Things in the styles he wants. I didn’t have enough.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Ignis replied.

Noctis sank to the floor at Prompto’s feet with his bevvy of footwear. “Do you know how to tie a shoe?”

“No,” Prompto said. “Will you train me?”

“Teach,” Noct said. “Not train. I’ll teach you.”

“Sure,” Prompto replied.

What followed was a strange sort of cultural and informational exchange, in which Prompto revealed that young MTs wore some sort of featureless elastic trainers until they had matured enough to begin working with their armor, and Noctis tried to explain the work ‘punk’ with only moderate success before giving up and simply helping Prompto try on various pairs of shoes. As the process wore on, Prompto indicated a preference for the support and compression of boots, and after that it didn’t take long for the two of them to settle on a pair.

Meanwhile, Ignis ladled some broth into a mug. Prompto had been instructed to speak up when he wanted to eat, but Ignis didn’t trust him to actually do so yet and it had been several hours since he’d broken his fast.

“You’ll need some kind of jacket, I think, as the weather cools off,” Noct was saying. “I have one you can try, but maybe you want a vest – so your arms can be free, like you said. We can bring in one of those too, and some other things, like maybe your own phone or an actual camera or …”

“I’ll remind you that Gladio’s monthly hikes are to procure essential or perishable supplies,” Ignis said, “not to fetch discretionary items.” Noctis made a predictable face. “Though of course we can get Prompto a few things to round out his wardrobe and personal effects.”

“You don’t have to,” Prompto said. “I like the things I already picked out.”

“You’ll certainly need to own more than three shirts. I didn’t mean to imply that we won’t be outfitting you adequately. I was simply reminding Noctis not to let his imagination get the better of him.” And in fairness, Ignis and Gladio had a history of taking advantage of those very same supply runs to procure favors for Noctis – though Noctis hardly knew about that.

“Whatever,” Noct said. He gathered the scattered shoes off the floor and carried them back to his room. Ignis took the opportunity to hand the mug of broth to Prompto, who consumed its contents with a gusto Ignis found encouraging. He did the same to the glass of water Ignis gave him afterwards, so Ignis looked him carefully in the eye and reiterated the request that he speak up whenever he thought he wanted more of anything.

“I will,” Prompto said. “But I was okay just now.”

“I’m aware you were probably not in terrible discomfort, especially not compared to your recent experiences. But I hope you will explore what it means to _want_ something, even if you don’t need it urgently to survive – because I am referring to the former, and you are thinking in terms of the latter.”

“Oh,” Prompto said. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Good. I also want you to know that you’re allowed to help yourself – to water whenever you want it, and to food once you understand how to procure or prepare it. I’m asking you to tell us when you want something so we can assist you while you recover, not because you need to ask for permission.”

Noctis returned from the bedrooms once more, and this time he held the cat in his arms. He brought it over to Prompto like a shyly eager toddler at show-and-tell, and Prompto smiled as though Chocobo were the moon and Noctis had hung her for him personally. And still he tore his gaze away to look up at Ignis and said, “Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome,” Ignis said. “That’s the point. But never mind that now.”

Noctis was already lowering the cat into Prompto’s grasp, ignoring Ignis completely.

When Gladio brought the kitten home after a supply trip two months ago, he’d told Noctis he found her in the woods – likely the abandoned offspring of a stray, which he’d rescued because otherwise she would have perished. In truth, he’d arranged to adopt a kitten from a local on his previous visit the month before, against every protocol in their brief. He’d had Ignis’ full consent and cooperation in the matter. They’d decided it was worth the risk, to perhaps return the smile to Noct’s increasingly despondent face.

It had, from time to time, and Noctis had cared for the animal diligently even when that smile was nowhere to be found. Though considering the expression on Noct’s face presently, Ignis and Gladio might have exercised better foresight by simply capturing an MT.

“I need to talk to Ignis for a minute,” Noctis was telling Prompto. “Chocobo can keep you company. You can rest if you want.”

“Understood.” Prompto was already enthralled by in Chocobo’s feather-soft fur, attention Chocobo seemed to be enjoying just as much. Noctis watched them for a moment before turning to walk away.

Ignis assumed they would sit at the kitchen table, but Noctis glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and said, “Can we use your room?”

That would mean leaving Prompto alone in the main room of the cottage. Prompto, who was at death’s door only yesterday and couldn’t walk twenty meters unaided. “Of course.”

Noct led the way, and Ignis tried to imagine what this could be about. They had yet to discuss the stumbles of the last few days – Ignis’ near-miss with a fit of panic that had forced Noctis to dismiss him from duty, for one. Ignis might be in for a dressing down. Or perhaps Noctis wanted advice regarding his outburst on the phone with Cor. It had been, in Ignis’ view, perfectly understandable considering the circumstances, and presumably the Marshall would be of a similar …

“I know I scared you,” Noctis said, as soon as Ignis had closed the door behind them. “Yesterday, with Prompto, and the Scourge.”

Although he’d been prepared for the topic to arise, Ignis still felt a faint echo of the terror that threatened to sieze him in that moment, watching Noctis come into contact with the terrible blackness. He hadn’t been able to steady himself afterward, hadn’t had the will. “I apologize. Until now my condition has only been a matter of personal discomfort – but yesterday evening I was unfit to perform my responsibilities. In better circumstances, I would be able to step back from my post and nominate an uncompromised replacement, but being where we are …”

“No,” Noct said. “Ignis. That’s not what I meant.”

“You would be well within your rights to …"

“You were up for two days straight. You were … and I … What I mean is, I’m sorry.”

Ignis searched for a suitable response. “Noctis …”

“I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do,” Noct continued. “I still do. But I’m sorry. I hate making you worry about me.”

It was at once bitter to know he caused Noct pain and sweet to know Noctis thought of him. Something stung at the corners of Ignis’ eyes. “I do believe it’s my life’s work to worry about you.”

Noct was staring at the bedspread. “Sorry for that, too.”

“I’m not.” Slowly, very slowly, Ignis reached out and caught Noct’s forearm with one hand. He raised Noct’s hand until his knuckles touched the corner of Ignis’ mouth – Noctis had no Ring for him to kiss, and he didn’t want to be reminded of his tarnished title, but Ignis could show his fealty all the same.

Then Noct was hiding his face against Ignis’ chest, so Ignis tucked him into a hug. Noctis might wear a crown of fool’s gold, but to Ignis he was priceless beyond measure.

\---------

When Noctis got back out to the main room, Prompto was slumped over on the couch, fast asleep. Chocobo was curled up with him on the cushions. They both looked peaceful. Noctis wanted to go sit next to him, to join that scene. But if he did, he might accidentally wake them.

The lights had come on outside, which meant if Gladio didn’t come in soon on his own, Noctis or Ignis would have to go make him. Ignis was still down the hall, tidying Prompto’s room. Noctis was just about to go himself when the door opened, saving him the trouble.

Unsurprisingly, Gladio looked like he’d been burying something – a little dirty and a lot sweaty. He took in Prompto on the sofa, and Noctis, and Prompto again in one continuous sweep. “What, are you watching him sleep?”

“No way,” Noctis said.

“Then you might want to get your knitting or something,” Gladio said. “Could’ve fooled me.” He gave Noctis a light-for-Gladio shove.

“Get off me,” Noctis muttered, but Gladio was already on his way past to hit the shower, so it didn’t have much effect. Noctis got out his phone and started looking through the photos he’d taken earlier. (With Prompto. Mostly _of_ Prompto, it turned out, paging back through them. He switched to solitaire.)

Ignis came out eventually and made a batch of dumplings to go with the broth, and after Gladio came back with his hair dripping and they’d all eaten, Ignis got the real cards and they played rummy. They made it a few rounds before Gladio lay his hand down when Noctis had been one card away for ages, and Noctis swore a little too loudly, and Prompto woke up.

He mumbled his usual words, but he blinked at them blearily while he did it and the terrible thing they meant was almost ignorable.

“Would you like to go directly to bed?” Ignis asked him. “You could certainly use the rest.”

Prompto took in the three of them sitting at the kitchen table. “I can finish the day’s operations.”

“There’s no need to strain yourself,” Ignis said, at the same moment as Noctis said, “It’s not really operations. It’s a game.”

“A game?” Prompto said, and he was off the couch – the cat in his arms – before Gladio could get out of his chair to meet him. Gladio put a hand under Prompto’s elbow to ferry him and his passenger over to the fourth seat, but as far as Noctis could tell, he was barely giving him any support. Prompto was seeming stronger already.

“You told me about games, right? When I was sick. Like training simulators, but only for fun. Train … Or, teach me,” Prompto said. He set the cat down on the table and she immediately jumped down to the floor and stalked off. Prompto looked after her wistfully for just a moment, but quickly got focused on Ignis’ explanation of the rules.

They had to tell him how a deck of cards worked. Ignis gave Noctis a dumb  _look_ when he got to the face cards – “jack, then queen, then king” – but Prompto didn’t pick up on it. He picked everything else up quickly – apparently the Empire wanted MTs to be at least a little smart – and played the practice hand with a serious look on his face. Noctis tried to make a point of acting bored and casual. Prompto didn’t notice. He was laser-focused on his cards and the draw pile in front of them. Gladio made some kind of half-joke and nudged him very lightly on the arm to get him to look up. Prompto took in Gladio’s smirk, and Noct’s and Ignis’ faces, and then he relaxed, just a little. He still looked at his cards most of the time, but he responded to their chatter most of the time, too. When Ignis won and Gladio groaned, he gave a small uncertain laugh.

Noctis smiled at him, and he beamed back.

They played for over an hour, and after a few rounds Prompto started to pick up the general strategy. His poker face was pretty weak – he’d been trapped behind a helmet for years, Noctis remembered and immediately tried to forget – but that didn’t stop him from winning a few rounds here and there. Eventually, though, he started to droop, slumping lower on the table and blinking longer and longer.

“You ready for bed?” Gladio asked him, at the end of a hand.

Prompto had his head pillowed on his arm, and his amethyst eyes had drifted shut at the lull in the action, but he snapped them open and squirmed to sit up straighter. “I can keep going.”

“It’s all right to be tired, to want to rest,” Ignis said.

“We’ll play again,” Noctis said, because he thought that was probably what Prompto was thinking. “We play games all the time – there’s nothing else to do out here anyway – so we’ll play again soon. Tomorrow, I promise.”

“This game or another,” Ignis said, catching Noctis’ drift. “There are many, and I expect you’ll enjoy nearly all of them.”

“But now it’s time to hit the hay.” Gladio got up and helped Prompto to his feet. Noctis stayed to help clean up, but once he’d scraped all the cards together into a messy pile, he pushed them toward Ignis so he could follow. Ignis tutted, but he didn’t argue, so Noctis went.

“Get changed, and then if you want I’ll help you with the buttons,” Gladio was saying as Noctis came down the hall.

Noctis slipped into his own room. He changed into his pajamas, then got down on his knees and reached under his bed, dragging out the cushiony pad Chocobo liked to sleep on and Chocobo herself.

When he got to Prompto’s room, Prompto was working on the buttons himself while Gladio watched. He was using his left hand, which didn’t really work, to hold the shirt in place while he carefully pushed each button through its buttonhole with the fingers of his right.

“You’ll get faster with practice,” Gladio assured him.

Prompto nodded. When he looked up at Noctis and saw he had Chocobo with him, he smiled.

“I brought her bed in,” Noctis said. “So maybe she’ll sleep in here with you.”

“She can have part of my bed,” Prompto said. “If she wants.”

“She’s not allowed to sleep in people beds,” Gladio said, just as Ignis appeared in the doorway at Noctis’ shoulder.

“Oh,” Prompto said, and he was so obviously trying not to be visibly disappointed.

“She’s still pretty small, and a person could roll over and hurt her accidentally,” Gladio explained.

Prompto’s face went serious. “Oh.”

“And,” Ignis volunteered, apologetic, “it is my own preference to keep animals out of my bed, so while she’s young and impressionable we are trying to train her to view them as off-limits.”

“Oh,” Prompto said again, this time so neutrally Noctis couldn’t even begin to guess what bothered him about that. It couldn’t be that Ignis wanted something different than what he wanted. Prompto was always trying to do what they wanted. Maybe it was the word ‘train’, the way they applied it to Chocobo, the way they were casually teaching her to act the way they wanted her to act by not letting her know anything different.

Chocobo was a cat and Prompto was a human being. They were good to Chocobo and the Niffs had used and abused Prompto in every way they could. Maybe it still felt weird for Prompto.

“She has her own bed, made just for her,” Noctis said, going over to set it in the corner of the little room. He set the cat down on it and prayed she wouldn’t just walk off. Maybe someone was actually listening for once, because Chocobo curled right back up and lay down.

Prompto stared at her longingly. Then his face brightened. “I know.” He grabbed a pillow and his blanket and slid off the mattress, and then he was getting down on his knees before Noctis could realize he should help him. Prompto set the pillow on the hard wood floor right beside the cat bed.

“What are you doing?” Noctis asked.

“I’ll sleep down here. This way I won’t hurt her, because she’ll be safe in her little circle, and she won’t think she can get on the big beds, but I can still touch her,” Prompto said, like any of that made sense.

“You’re going to sleep there on the floor,” Ignis said. He was clearly having a hard time keeping an even tone.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t …” Ignis stopped himself before Noctis even had to step in. Telling Prompto he _couldn’t_ do something would be an order. “Rather, you may want to consider acclimating yourself to sleeping in a bed. And it will be much more comfortable for you than the floor.” He hesitated. “It would trouble me to see you deprive yourself after all you’ve endured.” He looked like he was about two seconds away from telling Prompto he could let Chocobo in his bed if he wanted.

Prompto drew in a slow breath. “So that’s what I’m supposed to do. Sleep in the bed, that’s what you want.”

Noctis could practically see Ignis debate how to answer. “That is the choice I would make for you. But this is a situation where if your desires run counter to my opinion, you may do what you wish.”

Prompto reached up for Noctis’ hand, as if to stand, and Noctis took it. Prompto didn’t move. He looked down at the cat. His face was scrunched up like he was in physical pain.

“What are you thinking?” Noctis asked. “I want you to tell me.” Noctis wanted to know everything that went on in Prompto’s head. Wanted to be the person who finally got to hear it. The good and the bad.

Prompto let go of him and ran his fingers through the cat’s fur. “It’s nice, touching her,” Prompto said eventually. “She’s warm and she breathes and she’s so soft. It’s, uh … the bed is incredible, really, but the cat is …” He waved his other hand, a big gesture. “So. I think maybe I’d rather sleep down here with her.”

Of course he would. Of course he’d think sleeping on the floor was a small price to pay for real, living touch.

Noctis thumped to knees beside Prompto. Close. “You could sleep in my bed with me.”

Prompto fixed him with wide violet eyes. His hand pulled back from the cat, limp. Gladio and Ignis were both giving Noctis incredulous looks, but he ignored them. He was pretty sure his face was turning red, but he ignored that too.

“Really?” Prompto said.

“Sure. It’s like you said. Being near someone is. Nice.” That wasn’t exactly what Prompto had said, but Noctis doubted he’d call him on it.

Prompto looked dazed. “I mean, if you want me to, I will.”

Noctis didn’t love the way he put that. “Do _you_ want to?”

Prompto kind of half-laughed and clung to Noctis’ arm. “What? Yes.”

It wasn’t perfect, but in that moment Noctis would take it.

Noctis helped Prompto gather his blanket and pillow back off the floor and climb to his feet. Together they crossed the hall to his own room. Noctis ignored Ignis’ pinched eyebrows and Gladio’s skeptical frown. He sat Prompto down onto the side of the bed he didn’t sleep on and excused himself to brush his teeth. Gladio and Ignis were waiting for him in the hall.

Gladio pulled in a breath. Like he was going to object.

“Don’t,” Noctis said.

“Noct …” Gladio began anyway.

“I said don’t. If he wants to sleep next to something alive, he can. Maybe so do I.” Noctis shut the bathroom cabinet a little harder than he intended.

“As long as sleeping is all it is,” Ignis said.

Noctis scowled. “What do you take me for?”

“As someone who would never want to hurt someone, even unintentionally. I was simply making certain.”

Noctis sighed around his toothbrush. “Yeah, of course. Thanks.”

Ignis nodded, satisfied. Gladio still wasn’t.

“So what’s your problem?” Noctis muttered through the foam in his mouth.

“I just want to make sure you’re being smart,” Gladio said. “That you don’t lose sight of the long term.”

What long term? “Yeah, sure,” Noctis said tonelessly, because he knew it would irritate Gladio almost as much as Gladio was irritating him.

Gladio sigh-grumbled. “There’s nothing wrong with you being good to each other,” he allowed, and it sounded like he meant it.

“I know,” Noctis said. Then, reluctantly, “Thanks.”

Ignis and Gladio left him alone and went out to the main room. Noctis rinsed his mouth out, and then he flossed (something he hadn’t done in six months). He thought about washing his face, but decided he was being stupid. He went back to his room.

Prompto had turned himself into a blanket burrito on the extreme edge of the bed. If he rolled over a little, he’d fall off onto the floor.

“Are you good like that?” Noctis asked. “You can have the whole half of the bed, you know.”

“Oh. I’m okay. I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t bother you.”

“You won’t.” Noctis got into the bed. He lay near the edge of the mattress – not so much he wouldn’t be able to sleep right, but enough that Prompto would have space to spread out. “See? There’s plenty of room.”

“Okay.” Prompto rolled in a little, so he was facing Noctis. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” Noctis adjusted a little, slowly, claiming a couple more inches of the territory between them. Prompto watched him the whole time, and he didn’t edge away. He didn’t move a muscle. Noctis couldn’t tell if he looked comfortable or not. “You know, you can … Never mind. You can stay right there if you want.”

“But I don't have to?”

“I'm not asking you to move closer to me.”

“But I ... I can?”

“If you want, yeah, you can.”

Prompto’s gaze was open and serious. He scooted closer, a lot closer, so there were maybe five inches between them. “I don’t want to bother you. Be in your way.”

“I told you, you won’t.” Noctis almost wanted to look away – they were so close. He couldn’t quite feel Prompto’s warmth, not through his blanket, but he could feel the weight of his presence in the bed in the dimness of the bedroom. It was so different from what Noctis was used to, to being alone. Noctis reached his hand out and took the collar of his pajama shirt lightly between his fingers.

Prompto must have taken that as the invitation it kind of was, because he wriggled forward the rest of the way, bumping his knees into Noctis’, pressing himself into Noctis’ chest.

Good, that was good, that was perfect. Noctis tucked the blanket back around Prompto where it had gotten messed up, pulled it up around the back of his neck so the cold air couldn’t reach him. Then he draped his arm over Prompto’s side. “Is this okay?” Noctis asked, just in case.

Noctis felt it when Prompto nodded. “It’s like I'm dreaming. I imagined the outside world, sometimes, what it must be like for regular people. But in a million years I would never have imagined this.”

“I’m sorry,” Noctis said.

“Don’t be sorry. This place, it’s so nice.” Prompto’s hand edged out the top of his blanket and curled in Noctis’ sleep shirt.

Noctis wanted to tell him the truth. That this place was Noctis’ purgatory, and the future was a black abyss. Prompto would still die at the hands of the Empire, sooner or later, right alongside the rest of them.  But that would ruin this, for both of them, and everything was ruined enough. Instead he said, “Tell me if this is okay.” He drew his hand up and carefully combed his fingers through Prompto’s hair. “Not just okay. Tell me if it’s better or worse.”

“Better,” Prompto said instantly, relaxed into Noctis. He dropped his forehead to Noctis’ collarbone. “I like it a lot.”

“Good. That’s good.” He kept going. “Tell me any time if you want me to stop.”

“I won’t,” Prompto said. He was solid and alive under Noctis’ arm, and his hair was warm and smooth on Noctis’ fingers. His blanket was a comfortable cushion between them.

“It’s probably not as soft as the cat,” Noctis found himself saying, “but you can put your hand in my hair if you want.”

“It looks soft,” Prompto said. “I thought so the first time I saw you.” His hand let go of Noctis’ top. It slowly moved up over his shoulder and around into his hair. Prompto’s fingers raked through it experimentally, sending sparks down Noctis’ spine, before settling into place. “It is. It’s even softer than the cat. Uh, is this better or worse? Is it okay?”

“It’s good.” Noctis let his hand fall still on Prompto’s head. “You can go to sleep, if you want.”

Prompto’s arm clenched around him. “I’ll miss it all if I sleep now.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Noctis said. “Don’t worry.”

Prompto fell asleep pretty fast after that. Noctis could tell by the way his hand went limp and his breathing got long and slow. With Prompto’s head tucked under his chin and their hands in each other’s hair, Noctis wasn’t far behind him. He slept better than he had since the night Insomnia fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Gladio:  
> Noctis: I have a completely reasonable number of feelings for Prompto.  
> Ignis and Gladio:  
> Noctis: All of them. All the feelings, that’s the reasonable number. He’s the light of my life.
> 
> Also, I’m definitely using ~plot reasons~ to give Prompto actual purple eyes in this AU. To me his eyes are 98% blue and 2% dark blue-violet in canon but it’s a marvelous bit of fanon and I’m taking this opportunity to indulge that aesthetic.

**Author's Note:**

> As you all know, there's literally no telling when the next update will be - but you're always welcome to come bother me about it on tumblr [@carolyncaves](https://carolyncaves.tumblr.com/).
> 
> And once again, y'all are so nice I can hardly handle it. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the comments and kudos and kind words. (And patience.) Thank you always <3<3


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